



















**I AM NOT BY NATURE A SPY, PROFESSOR KENNEDY, BUT — WELL, 
SOMETIMES ONE IS FORCED INTO SOMETHING LIKE THAT” 


[See p. I 




THE 

TREASURE TRAIN 


Adventures of Craig Kennedy, 
Scientific Detective, which 
ultimately ta\e him abroad 

BY . 

ARTHUR B. REEVE 

*« 


[FRONTISPIECE BY . 

WILL FOSTER 


[NEW YORK 


GROSSET & DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 






tK i ft*'* 



The Treasure Train 

Copyright, 1917. by Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the United States of America 


F-T 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. The Treasure-train i 

II. The Truth-detector 26 

III. The Soul-analysis 54 

IV. The Mystic Poisoner 78 

V. The Phantom Destroyer 104 

VI. The Beauty Mask 132 

VII. The Love Meter 160 

VIII. The Vital Principle 187 

IX. The Rubber Dagger 217 

X. The Submarine Mine 246 

XI. The Gun-runner 275 

XII. The Sunken Treasure 305 


i 


i 

* 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 




THE TREASURE -TRAIN 


I 

THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

“T AM not by nature a spy, Professor Kennedy, 
* but — well, sometimes one is forced into some- 
thing like that.” Maude Euston, who had sought 
out Craig in his laboratory, was a striking girl, not 
merely because she was pretty or because her gown 
was modish. Perhaps it was her sincerity and art- 
lessness that made her attractive. 

She was the daughter of Barry Euston, president 
of the Continental Express Company, and one could 
readily see why, aside from the position her father 
held, she should be among the most-sought-after 
young women in the city. 

Miss Euston looked straight into Kennedy’s eyes 
as she added, without waiting for him to ask a 
question : 

“Yesterday I heard something that has made me 
think a great deal. You know, we live at the 
St. Germaine when we are in town. I’ve noticed 
for several months past that the lobbies are full 
of strange, foreign-looking people. 

i 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Well, yesterday afternoon I was sitting alone in 
the tea-room of the hotel, waiting for some friends. 
On the other side of a huge palm I heard a couple 
whispering. I have seen the woman about the 
hotel often, though I know that she doesn’t live 
there.. The man I don’t remember ever having 
seen before. They mentioned the name of Granville 
Barnes, treasurer of father’s company — ” 

“Is that so?” cut in Kennedy, quickly. “I read 
the story about him in the papers this morning.” 

As for myself, I was instantly alive with interest, 
too. 

Granville Barnes had been suddenly stricken while 
riding in his car in the country, and the report had 
it that he was hovering between life and death in the 
General Hospital. The chauffeur had been stricken, 
too, by the same incomprehensible malady, though 
apparently not so badly. 

How the chauffeur managed to save the car was a 
miracle, but he brought it to a stop beside the road, 
where the two were found gasping, a quarter of an 
hour later, by a passing motorist, who rushed them to 
a doctor, who had them transferred to the hospital 
in the city. Neither of them seemed able or willing 
to throw any light on what had happened. 

“Just what was it you overheard?” encouraged 
Kennedy. 

“I heard the man tell the woman,” Miss Euston 
replied, slowly, ‘ ‘ that now was the chance — when any 
of the great warring powers would welcome and 
wink at any blow that might cripple the other to the 
slightest degree. I heard him say something about 
the Continental Express Company, and that was 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


enough to make me listen, for, you know, father’s 
company is handling the big shipments of gold and 
securities that are coming here from abroad by way 
of Halifax. Then I heard her mention the names 
of Mr. Barnes and of Mr. Lane, too, the general 
manager.” She paused, as though not relishing the 
idea of having the names bandied about. “Last 
night the — the attack on him — for that is all that 
I can think it was — occurred.” 

As she stopped again, I could not help thinking 
what a tale of strange plotting the casual conversa- 
tion suggested. New York, I knew, was full of 
high-class international crooks and flimflammers 
who had flocked there because the great field of 
their operations in Europe was closed. The war 
had literally dumped them on us. Was some one 
using a band of these crooks for ulterior purposes? 
The idea opened up wide possibilities. 

“Of course,” Miss Euston continued, “that is all 
I know; but I think I am justified in thinking that 
the two things — the shipment of gold here and the 
attack — have some connection. Oh, can’t you take 
up the case and look into it?” 

She made her appeal so winsomely that it would 
have been difficult to resist even if it had not prom- 
ised to prove important. 

“I should be glad to take up the matter,” re- 
plied Craig, quickly, adding, “if Mr. Barnes will 
let me.” 

“Oh, he must!” she cried. “I haven’t spoken to 
father, but I know that he would approve of it. I 
know he thinks I haven’t any head for business, just 
because I wasn’t born a boy. I want to prove to 
3 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


him that I can protect the company’s interests. 
And Mr. Barnes — why, of course he will approve.” 

She said it with an assurance that made me 
wonder. It was only then that I recollected that it 
had been one of the excuses for printing her picture 
in the society columns of the Star so often that the 
pretty daughter of the president of the Continental 
was being ardently wooed by two of the company’s 
younger officials. Granville Barnes himself was one. 
The other was Rodman Lane, the young general 
manager. I wished now that I had paid more atten- 
tion to the society news. Perhaps I should have 
been in a better position to judge which of them it 
was whom she really had chosen. As it was, two 
questions presented themselves to me. Was it 
Barnes? And had Barnes really been the victim of 
an attack — or of an accident? 

Kennedy may have been thinking the problems 
over, but he gave no evidence of it. He threw on 
his hat and coat, and was ready in a moment to be 
driven in Miss Euston’s car to the hospital. 

There, after the usual cutting of red tape which 
only Miss Euston could have accomplished, we were 
led by a white-uniformed nurse through the silent 
halls to the private room occupied by Barnes. 

“It’s a most peculiar case,” whispered the young 
doctor in charge, as we paused at the door. ‘ ‘ I want 
you to notice his face and his cough. His pulse 
seems very weak, almost imperceptible at times. The 
stethoscope reveals subcrepitant sounds all over his 
lungs. It’s like bronchitis or pneumonia — but it 
isn’t either.” 

We entered. Barnes was lying there almost in 

4 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


a state of unconsciousness. As we stood watching 
him, he opened his eyes. But he did not see us. His 
vision seemed to be riveted on Miss Euston. He 
murmured something that we could not catch, and, 
as his eyes closed again, his face seemed to relax 
into a peaceful expression, as though he were dream- 
ing of something happy. 

Suddenly, however, the old tense lines reappeared. 
Another idea seemed to have been suggested. 

“Is — Lane — hiring the men — himself?” he mur- 
mured. 

The sight of Maude Euston had prompted the 
thought of his rival, now with a clear field. What 
did it mean? Was he jealous of Lane, or did his 
words have a deeper meaning? What difference 
could it have made if Lane had a free hand in 
managing the shipment of treasure for the company? 

Kennedy looked long and carefully at the face of 
the sick man. It was blue and cyanosed still, and 
his lips had a violet tinge. Barnes had been cough- 
ing a great deal. Now and then his mouth was 
flecked with foamy blood, which the nurse wiped 
gently away. Kennedy picked up a piece of the 
blood-soaked gauze. 

A moment later we withdrew from the room as 
quietly as we had entered and tiptoed down the hall, 
Miss Euston and the young doctor following us 
more slowly. As we reached the door, I turned to 
see where she was. A distinguished-looking elderly 
gentleman, sitting in the waiting-room, had hap- 
pened to glance up as she passed and had moved 
quickly to the hall. 

“What — you here, Maude?” we heard him say. 

2 5 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Yes, father. I thought I might be able to do 
something for Granville.” 

She accompanied the remark with a sidelong glance 
and nod at us, which Kennedy interpreted to mean 
that we might as well keep in the background. 
Euston himself, far from chiding her, seemed rather 
to be pleased than otherwise. We could not hear 
all they said, but one sentence was wafted over. 

“It’s most unfortunate, Maude, at just this time. 
It leaves the whole matter in the hands of Lane.” 

At the mention of Lane, which her father accom- 
panied by a keen glance, she flushed a little and 
bit her lip. I wondered whether it meant more than 
that, of the two suitors, her father obviously pre- 
ferred Barnes. 

Euston had called to see Barnes, and, as the doctor 
led him up the hall again, Miss Euston rejoined us. 

“You need not drive us back,” thanked Kennedy. 
“Just drop us at the Subway. I’ll let you know the 
moment I have arrived at any conclusion.” 

On the train we happened to run across a former 
classmate, Morehead, who had gone into the broker- 
age business. 

“Queer about that Barnes case, isn’t it?” suggested 
Kennedy, after the usual greetings were over. Then, 
without suggesting that we were more than casually 
interested, “What does the Street think of it?” 

“It is queer,” rejoined Morehead. “All the boys 
down-town are talking about it — wondering how it 
will affect the transit of the gold shipments. I don’t 
know what would happen if there should be a hitch. 
But they ought to be able to run the thing through 
all right.” 


6 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“It’s a pretty ticklish piece of business, then?” 
I suggested. 

“Well, you know the state of the market just 
now — a little push one way or the other means a lot. 
And I suppose you know that the insiders on the 
Street have boosted Continental Express up until 
it is practically one of the ‘war stocks,’ too. Well, 
good-by — here’s my station.” 

We had scarcely returned to the laboratory, how- 
ever, when a car drove up furiously and a young 
man bustled in to see us. 

“You do not know me,” he introduced, “but I 
am Rodman Lane, general manager of the Conti- 
nental Express. You know our company has had 
charge of the big shipments of gold and securities 
to New York. I suppose you’ve read about what 
happened to Barnes, our treasurer. I don’t know 
anything about it — haven’t even time to find out. 
All I know is that it puts more work on me, and I’m 
nearly crazy already.” 

I watched him narrowly. 

“We’ve had little trouble of any kind so far,” he 
hurried on, “until just now I learned that all the 
roads over which we are likely to send the shipments 
have been finding many more broken rails than 
usual.” 

Kennedy had been following him keenly. 

“I should like to see some samples of them,” he 
observed. 

“You would?” said Lane, eagerly. “I’ve a couple 
of sections sawed from rails down at my office, where 
I asked the officials to send them.” 

7 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


We made a hurried trip down to the express com' 
pany’s office. Kennedy examined the sections of 
rails minutely with a strong pocket-lens. 

“No ordinary break,” he commented. “You can 
see that it was an explosive that was used — an ex- 
plosive well and properly tamped down with wet 
clay. Without tamping, the rails would have been 
bent, not broken.” 

“Done by wreckers, then?” Lane asked. 

“Certainly not defective rails,” replied Kennedy. 
“Still, I don’t think you need worry so much about 
them for the next train. You know what to guard 
against. Having been discovered, whoever they 
are, they’ll probably not try it again. It’s some new 
wrinkle that must be guarded against.” 

It was small comfort, but Craig was accustomed 
to being brutally frank. 

“Have you taken any other precautions now that 
you didn’t take before?” 

“Yes,” replied Lane, slowly; “the railroad has 
been experimenting with wireless on its trains. We 
have placed wireless on ours, too. They can’t cut 
us off by cutting wires. Then, of course, as before, 
we shall use a pilot-train to run ahead and a strong 
guard on the train itself. But now I feel that there 
may be something else that we can do. So I have 
come to you.” 

“When does the next shipment start?” asked 
Kennedy. 

“To-morrow, from Halifax.” 

Kennedy appeared to be considering something. 

“The trouble,” he said, at length, “is likely to be 
at this end. Perhaps before the train starts some- 
8 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


thing may happen that will tell us just what addi- 
tional measures to take as it approaches New York.” 

While Kennedy was at work with the blood-soaked 
gauze that he had taken from Barnes, I could do 
nothing but try to place the relative positions of the 
various actors in the little drama that was unfolding. 
Lane himself puzzled me. Sometimes I felt almost 
sure that he knew that Miss Euston had come to 
Kennedy, and that he was trying, in this way, 
to keep in touch with what was being done for 
Barnes. 

Some things I knew already. Barnes was com- 
paratively wealthy, and had evidently the stamp of 
approval of Maude Euston’ s father. As for Lane, 
he was far from wealthy, although ambitious. 

The company was in a delicate situation where an 
act of omission would count for as much as an act of 
commission. Whoever could foresee what was going 
to happen might capitalize that information for 
much money. If there was a plot and Barnes had 
been a victim, what was its nature? I recalled Miss 
Euston’s overheard conversation in the tea-room. 
Both names had been mentioned. In short, I soon 
found myself wondering whether some one might not 
have tempted Lane either to do or not to do some- 
thing. 

“I wish you’d go over to the St. Germaine, 
Walter,” remarked Kennedy, at length, looking up 
from his work. “Don’t tell Miss Euston of Lane’s 
visit. But ask her if she will keep an eye out for 
that woman she heard talking — and the man, too. 
They may drop in again. And tell her that if she 
9 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


hears anything else, no matter how trivial, about 
Barnes, she must let me know.” 

I was glad of the commission. Not only had I 
been unable to arrive anywhere in my conjectures, 
but it was something even to have a chance to talk 
with a girl like Maude Euston. 

Fortunately I found her at home and, though she 
was rather disappointed that I had nothing to 
report, she received me graciously, and we spent the 
rest of the evening watching the varied life of the 
fashionable hostelry in the hope of chancing on the 
holders of the strange conversation in the tea-room. 

Once in a while an idea would occur to her of some 
one who was in a position to keep her informed if 
anything further happened to Barnes, and she would 
despatch a messenger with a little note. Finally, as 
it grew late and the adventuress of the tea-room 
episode seemed unlikely to favor the St. Germaine 
with her presence again that night, I made my 
excuses, having had the satisfaction only of having 
delivered Kennedy’s message, without accomplishing 
anything more. In fact, I was still unable to deter- 
mine whether there was any sentiment stronger 
than sympathy that prompted her to come to 
Kennedy about Barnes. As for Lane, his name was 
scarcely mentioned except when it was necessary. 

It was early the next morning that I rejoined 
Craig at the laboratory. I found him studying the 
solution which he had extracted from the blood- 
soaked gauze after first removing the blood in a little 
distilled water. 

Before him was his new spectroscope, and I could 
see that now he was satisfied with what the uncannily 

io 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

delicate light-detective had told him. He pricked 
his finger and let a drop of blood fall into a little 
fresh distilled water, some of which he placed in the 
spectroscope. 

“Look through it,” he said. “Blood diluted with 
water shows the well-known dark bands between 
D and E, known as the oxyhemoglobin absorption.” 
I looked as he indicated and saw the dark bands. 
“Now,” he went on, “I add some of this other 
liquid.” 

He picked up a bottle of something with a faint 
greenish tinge. 

“See the bands gradually fade?” 

I watched, and indeed they did diminish in inten- 
sity and finally disappear, leaving an uninterrupted 
and brilliant spectrum. 

“My spectroscope,” he said, simply, “shows that 
the blood-crystals of Barnes are colorless. Barnes 
was poisoned — by some gas, I think. I wish I had 
time to hunt along the road where the accident took 
place. ” As he said it, he walked over and drew from a 
cabinet several peculiar arrangements made of gauze. 

He was about to say something more when there 
came a knock at the door. Kennedy shoved the 
gauze arrangements into his pocket and opened it. 
It was Maude Euston, breathless and agitated. 

“Oh, Mr. Kennedy, have you heard?” she cried. 
“You asked me to keep a watch whether anything 
more happened to Mr. Barnes. So I asked some 
friends of his to let me know of anything. He has 
a yacht, the Sea Gull , which has been lying off City 
Island. Well, last night the captain received a 
message to go to the hospital, that Mr. Barnes 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


wanted to see him. Of course it was a fake. Mr. 
Barnes was too sick to see anybody on business. 
But when the captain got back, he found that, on 
one pretext or another, the crew had been got 
ashore — and the Sea Gull is gone — stolen! Some 
men in a small boat must have overpowered the 
engineer. Anyhow, she has disappeared. I know 
that no one could expect to steal a yacht — at least 
for very long. She’d be recognized soon. But they 
must know that, too.” 

Kennedy looked at his watch. 

“It is only a few hours since the train started 
from Halifax,” he considered. “It will be due in 
New York early to-morrow morning — twenty mill- 
ion dollars in gold and thirty millions in securities — 
a seven-car steel train, with forty armed guards!” 

“I know it,” she said, anxiously, “and I am so 
afraid something is going to happen — ever since I 
had to play the spy. But what could any one want 
with a yacht?” 

Kennedy shrugged his shoulders non-committally. 

“It is one of the things that Mr. Lane must 
guard against,” he remarked, simply. She looked up 
quickly. 

“Mr. Lane?” she repeated. 

“Yes,” replied Kennedy; “the protection of the 
train has fallen on him. I shall meet the train myself 
when it gets to Worcester and come in on it. I 
don’t think there can be any danger before it reaches 
that point.” 

“Will Mr. Lane go with you?” 

“He must,” decided Kennedy. “That train must 
be delivered safely here in this city.” 

12 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Maude Euston gave Craig one of her penetrating, 
direct looks. 

“You think there is danger, then?” 

“I cannot say,” he replied. 

“Then I am going with you!” she exclaimed. 

Kennedy paused and met her eyes. I do not know 
whether he read what was back of her sudden de- 
cision. At least I could not, unless there was some- 
thing about Rodman Lane which she wished to have 
cleared up. Kennedy seemed to read her character 
and know that a girl like Maude Euston would be a 
help in any emergency. 

“Very well,” he agreed; “meet us at Mr. Lane’s 
office in half an hour. Walter, see whether you can 
find Whiting.” 

Whiting was one of Kennedy’s students with whom 
he had been lately conducting some experiments. 
I hurried out and managed to locate him. 

“What is it you suspect?” I asked, when we re- 
turned. “A wreck — some spectacular stroke at the 
nations that are shipping the gold?” 

“Perhaps,” he replied, absently, as he and Whiting 
hurriedly assembled some parts of instruments that 
were on a table in an adjoining room. 

“Perhaps?” I repeated. “What else might there 
be?” 

“Robbery.” 

“Robbery!” I exclaimed. “Of twenty million 
dollars? W'hy, man, just consider the mere weight 
of the metal!” 

“That’s all very well,” he replied, warming up a 
bit as he saw that Whiting was getting things 
together quickly. “But it needs only a bit of twenty 

13 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


millions to make a snug fortune — ” He paused and 
straightened up as the gathering of the peculiar 
electrical apparatus, whatever it was, was completed. 
“And,” he went on quickly, “consider the effect on 
the stock-market of the new's. That’s the big thing.” 

I could only gasp. 

“A modern train-robbery, planned in the heart of 
dense traffic!” 

“Why not?” he queried. “Nothing is impossible 
if you can only take the other fellow unawares. Our 
job is not to be taken unawares. Are you ready, 
Whiting?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied the student, shouldering the 
apparatus, for which I was very thankful, for my 
arms had frequently ached carrying about some of 
Kennedy’s weird but often weighty apparatus. 

We piled into a taxicab and made a quick journey 
to the office of the Continental Express. Maude 
Euston had already preceded us, and we found her 
standing by Lane’s desk as he paced the floor. 

“Please, Miss Euston, don’t go,” he was saying 
as we entered. 

“But I want to go,” she persisted, more than ever 
determined, apparently. 

“I have engaged Professor Kennedy just for the 
purpose of foreseeing what new attack can be made 
on us,” he said. 

“You have engaged Professor Kennedy?” she 
asked. ‘ ‘ I think I have a prior claim there, haven’t 
I?” she appealed. 

Kennedy stood for a moment looking from one 
to the other. What was there in the motives that 
actuated them? Was it fear, hate, love, jealousy? 

14 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“I can serve my two clients only if they yield to 
me,” Craig remarked, quietly. “ Don’t set that 
down, Whiting. Which is it — yes or no?” 

Neither Lane nor Miss Euston looked at each 
other for a moment. 

“Is it in my hands?” repeated Craig. 

“Yes,” bit off Lane, sourly. 

“And you, Miss Euston?” 

“Of course,” she answered. 

“Then we all go,” decided Craig. “Lane, may 
I install this thing in your telegraph-room out- 
side?” 

“Anything you say,” Lane returned, unmollified. 

Whiting set to work immediately, while Kennedy 
gave him the final instructions. 

Neither Lane nor Miss Euston spoke a word, even 
when I left the room for a moment, fearing that 
three was a crowd. I could not help wondering 
whether she might not have heard something more 
from the woman in the tea-room conversation than 
she had told us. If she had, she had been more 
frank with Lane than with us. She must have told 
him. Certainly she had not told us. It was the only 
way I could account for the armed truce that seemed 
to exist as, hour after hour, our train carried us 
nearer the point where we were to meet the treasure- 
? train. 

At Worcester we had still a long wait for the 
argosy that was causing so much anxiety and danger. 
It was long after the time scheduled that we left 
finally, on our return journey, late at night. 

Ahead of us went a dummy pilot-train to be 
sacrificed if any bridges or trestles were blown up 
iS 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


or if any new attempts were made at producing 
artificially broken rails. We four established our- 
selves as best we could in a car in the center of the 
treasure- train, with one of the armed guards as 
company. Mile after mile we reeled off, ever south- 
ward and westward. 

We must have crossed the State of Connecticut 
and have been approaching Long Island Sound, 
when suddenly the train stopped with a jerk. Or- 
dinarily there is nothing to grow alarmed about at 
the mere stopping of a train. But this was an un- 
usual train under unusual circumstances. 

No one said a word as we peered out. Down the 
track the signals seemed to show a clear road. What 
was the matter? 

‘‘Look!” exclaimed Kennedy, suddenly. 

Off a distance ahead I could see what looked like 
a long row of white fuses sticking up in the faint 
starlight. From them the fresh west wind seemed 
to blow a thick curtain of greenish-yellow smoke 
which swept across the track, enveloping the engine 
and the forward cars and now advancing toward us 
like the “yellow wind” of northern China. It 
seemed to spread thickly on the ground, rising 
scarcely more than sixteen or eighteen feet. 

A moment and the cloud began to fill the air 
about us. There was a paralyzing odor. I looked 
about at the others, gasping and coughing. As the 
cloud rolled on, inexorably increasing in density, 
it seemed literally to grip the lungs. 

It flashed over me that already the engineer and 
fireman had been overcome, though not before the 
engineer had been able to stop the train. 

■i 6 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


As the cloud advanced, the armed guards ran from 
it, shouting, one now and then falling, overcome. 
For the moment none of us knew what to do. 
Should we run and desert the train for which we had 
dared so much? To stay was death. 

Quickly Kennedy pulled from his pocket the gauze 
arrangements he had had in his hand that morning 
just as Miss Euston’s knock had interrupted his 
conversation with me. Hurriedly he shoved one 
into Miss Euston’s hands, then to Lane, then to 
me, and to the guard who was with us. 

“Wet them!” he cried, as he fitted his own over 
his nose and staggered to a water-cooler. 

“What is it?” I gasped, hoarsely, as we all imi- 
tated his every action. 

“Chlorin gas,” he rasped back, “the same gas 
that overcame Granville Barnes. These masks are 
impregnated with a glycerin solution of podium 
phosphate. It was chlorin that destroyed the red 
coloring matter in Barnes’s blood. No wonder, 
when this action of just a whiff of it on us is so 
rapid. Even a short time longer and death would 
follow. It destroys without the possibility of recon- 
stitution, and it leaves a dangerous deposit of al- 
bumin. How do you feel?” 

“All right,” I lied. 

We looked out again. The things that looked like 
'fuses were not bombs, as I had expected, but big 
reinforced bottles of gas compressed at high pressure, 
with the taps open. The supply was not inexhaust- 
ible. In fact, it was decidedly limited. But it 
seemed to have been calculated to a nicety to do the 
work. Only the panting of the locomotive now 

17 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


broke the stillness as Kennedy and I moved forward 
along the track. 

Crack! rang out a shot. 

“Get on the other side of the train — quick !” 
ordered Craig. 

In the shadow, aside from the direction in which 
the wind was wafting the gas, we could now just 
barely discern a heavy but powerful motor-truck and 
figures moving about it. As I peered out from the 
shelter of the train, I realized what it all meant. 
The truck, which had probably conveyed the gas- 
tanks from the rendezvous where they had been 
collected, was there now to convey to some dark 
wharf what of the treasure could be seized. There 
the stolen yacht was waiting to carry it off. 

“Don’t move — don’t fire,” cautioned Kennedy. 
“Perhaps they will think it was only a shadow they 
saw. Let them act first. They must. They haven’t 
any too much time. Let them get impatient.” 

For some minutes we waited. 

Sure enough, separated widely, but converging 
toward the treasure-train at last, we could see several 
dark figures making their way from the road across 
a strip of field and over the rails. I made a move 
with my gun. 

“Don’t,” whispered Kennedy. “Let them get 
together.” 

His ruse was clever. Evidently they thought that 
it had been indeed a wraith at which they had fired. 
Swiftly now they hurried to the nearest of the gold- 
laden cars. We could hear them breaking in where 
the guards had either been rendered unconscious or 
had fled. 

18 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


I looked around at Maude Euston. She was the 
calmest of us all as she whispered: 

“They are in the car. Can’t we do something?” 

“Lane,” whispered Kennedy, “crawl through 
under the trucks with me. Walter, and you, Dugan,” 
he added, to the guard, “go down the other side. 
We must rush them — in the car.” 

As Kennedy crawled under the train again I saw 
Maude Euston follow Lane closely. 

How it happened I cannot describe, for the simple 
reason that I don’t remember. I know that it was 
a short, sharp dash, that the fight was a fight of 
fists in which guns were discharged wildly in the air 
against the will of the gunner. But from the mo- 
ment when Kennedy’s voice rang out in the door, 
“Hands up !” to the time that I saw that we had the 
robbers lined' up with their backs against the heavy 
cases of the precious metal for which they had 
planned and risked so much, it is a blank of grim 
death-struggle. 

I remember my surprise at seeing one of them a 
woman, and I thought I must be mistaken. I looked 
about. No; there was Maude Euston standing just 
beside Lane. 

I think it must have been that which recalled me 
and made me realize that it was a reality and not a 
dream. The two women stood glaring at each other. 

“The woman in the tea-room!” exclaimed Miss 
Euston. “It was about this — robbery — then, that I 
heard you talking the other afternoon.” 

I looked at the face before me. It was, had been, 
a handsome face. But now it was cold and hard, 
with that heartless expression of the adventuress* 

19 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


The men seemed to take their plight hard. But, as 
she looked into the clear, gray eyes of the other 
woman, the adventuress seemed to gain rather than 
lose in defiance. 

“Robbery?” she repeated, bitterly. “This is 
only a beginning.” 

“A beginning. What do you mean?” 

It was Lane who spoke. Slowly she turned toward 
him. 

“You know well enough what I mean.” 

The implication that she intended was clear. She 
had addressed the remark to him, but it was a stab 
at Maude Euston. 

“I know only what you wanted me to do — and I 
refused. Is there more still?” 

I wondered whether Lane could really have been 
involved. 

‘ ‘ Quick — what do you mean ?” demanded Kennedy, 
authoritatively. 

The woman turned to him: 

“Suppose this news of the robbery is out? What 
will happen? Do you want me to tell you, young 
lady?” she added, turning again to Maude Euston. 
“I’ll tell you. The stock of the Continental Express 
Company will fall like a house of cards. And then? 
Those who have sold it at the top price will buy it 
back again at the bottom. The company is sound. 
The depression will not last — perhaps will be over 
in a day, a week, a month. Then the operators can 
send it up again. Don’t you see? It is the old 
method of manipulation in a new form. It is a 
war-stock gamble. Other stocks will be affected the 
same way. This is our reward — what we can get 
20 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


out of it by playing this game for which the materials 
are furnished free. We have played it — and lost. 
The manipulators will get their reward on the stock- 
market this morning. But they must still reckon 
with us — even if we have lost.” She said it with a 
sort of grim humor. 

“And you have put Granville Barnes out of the 
way, first?” I asked, remembering the chlorin. She 
laughed shrilly. 

“That was an accident — his own carelessness. 
He was carrying a tank of it for us. Only his chauf- 
feur’s presence of mind in throwing it into the shrub- 
bery by the road saved his life and reputation. No, 
young man; he was one of the manipulators, too. 
But the chief of them was — ” She paused as if to 
enjoy one brief moment of triumph at least. “The 
president of the company,” she added. 

“No, no, no!” cried Maude Euston. 

“Yes, yes, yes! He does not dare deny it. They 
were all in it.” 

“Mrs. Labret — you lie!” towered Lane, in a surg- 
ing passion, as he stepped forward and shook his 
finger at her. “You lie and you know it. There is 
an old saying about the fury of a woman scorned.” 
She paid no attention to him whatever. 

=! “Maude Euston,” she hissed, as though Lane had 
been as inarticulate as the boxes of gold about, 
“you have saved your lover’s reputation — perhaps. 
At least the shipment is safe. But you have ruined 
your father. The deal will go through. Already 
that has been arranged. You may as well tell 
Kennedy to let us go and let the thing go through. 
It involves more than us.” 

3 


21 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Kennedy had been standing back a bit, carefully 
keeping them all covered. He glanced a moment 
out of the corner of his eye at Maude Euston, but 
said nothing. 

It was a terrible situation. Had Lane really been 
in it? That question was overshadowed by the 
mention of her father. Impulsively she turned to 
Craig. 

“Oh, save him!” she cried. “Can’t anything be 
done to save my father in spite of himself?” 

“It is too late,” mocked Mrs. Labret. “People 
will read the account of the robbery in the papers, 
even if it didn’t take place. They will see it before 
they see a denial. Orders will flood in to sell the 
stock. No; it can’t be stopped.” 

Kennedy glanced momentarily at me. 

“Is there still time to catch the last morning edi- 
tion of the Star , Walter?” he asked, quietly. I 
glanced at my watch. 

“We may try. It’s possible.” 

“Write a despatch — an accident to the engine — 
train delayed — now proceeding — anything. Here, 
Dugan, you keep them covered. Shoot to kill if 
there’s a move.” 

Kennedy had begun feverishly setting up the part 
of the apparatus which he had brought after Whiting 
had set up his. 

“What can you do?” hissed Mrs. Labret. “You 
can’t get word through. Orders have been issued 
that the telegraph operators are under no circum- 
stances to give out news about this train. The wire- 
less is out of commission, too — the operator over- 
come. The robbery story has been prepared and 
22 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

given out by this time. Already reporters are being 
assigned to follow it up.” 

I looked over at Kennedy. If orders had been 
given for such secrecy by Barry Euston, how could 
my despatch do any good? It would be held back 
by the operators. 

Craig quickly slung a wire over those by the side 
of the track and seized what I had written, sending 
furiously. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. “You heard 
what she said.” 

“One thing you can be certain of,” he answered, 
“that despatch can never be stolen or tapped by 
spies.” 

“Why — what is this?” I asked, pointing to the 
instrument. 

“The invention of Major Squier, of the army,” 
he replied, “by which any number of messages may 
be sent at the same time over the same wire without 
the slightest conflict. Really it consists in making 
wireless electric waves travel along, instead of in- 
side, the wire. In other words, he had discovered the 
means of concentrating the energy of a wireless wave 
on a given point instead of letting it riot all over the 
face of the earth. 

“It is the principle of wireless. But in ordinary 
wireless less than one-millionth part of the original 
sending force reaches the point for which it is in- 
tended. The rest is scattered through space in all 
directions. If the vibrations of a current are of a 
certain number per second, the current will follow 
a wire to which it is, as it were, attached, instead of 
passing off into space. 


23 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


‘‘All the energy in wireless formerly wasted in 
radiation in every direction now devotes itself solely 
to driving the current through the ether about the 
wire. Thus it goes until it reaches the point where 
Whiting is — where the vibrations correspond to its 
own and are in tune. There it reproduces the send- 
ing impulse. It is wired wireless.” 

Craig had long since finished sending his wired 
wireless message. We waited impatiently. The 
seconds seemed to drag like hours. 

Far off, now, we could hear a whistle as a train 
finally approached slowly into our block, creeping 
up to see what was wrong. But that made no 
difference now. It was not any help they could give 
us that we wanted. A greater problem, the saving 
of one man’s name and the re-establishment of 
another, confronted us. 

Unexpectedly the little wired wireless instrument 
before us began to buzz. Quickly Kennedy seized a 
pencil and wrote as the message that no hand of 
man could interfere with was flashed back to us. 

“It is for you, Walter, from the Star ,” he said, 
simply handing me what he had written on the back 
of an old envelope. 

I read, almost afraid to read: 


Robbery story killed. Black type across page-head last 
edition, “Treasure-train safe!” 


McGrath. 


“Show it to Miss Euston,” Craig added, simply, 
gathering up his wired wireless set, just as the crew 
from the train behind us ran up. “She may like to 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


know that she has saved her father from himself 
through misunderstanding her lover.” 

I thought Maude Euston would faint as she 
clutched the message. Lane caught her as she reeled 
backward. 

“Rodman — can you — forgive me?” she mur- 
mured, simply, yielding to him and looking up into 
his face. 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


“Vf OU haven’t heard — no one outside has heard — 

I of the strange illness and the robbery of my 
employer, Mr. Mansfield — ‘Diamond Jack’ Mans- 
field, you know.” 

Our visitor was a slight, very pretty, but extremely 
nervous girl, who had given us a card bearing the 
name Miss Helen Grey. 

“Illness — robbery?” repeated Kennedy, at once 
interested and turning a quick glance at me. 

I shrugged my shoulders in the negative. Neither 
the Star nor any of the other papers had had a word 
about it. 

“Why, what’s the trouble?” he continued to Miss 
Grey. 

“You see,” she explained, hurrying on, “I’m Mr. 
Mansfield’s private secretary, and — oh, Professor 
Kennedy, I don’t know, but I’m afraid it is a case 
for a detective rather than a doctor.” She paused a 
moment and leaned forward nearer to us. “I think 
he has been poisoned!” 

The words themselves were startling enough with- 
out the evident perturbation of the girl. Whatever 
one might think, there was no doubt that she firmly 
believed what she professed to fear. More than 
26 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


that, I fancied I detected a deeper feeling in her 
tone than merely loyalty to her employer. 

“Diamond Jack” Mansfield was known in Wall 
Street as a successful promoter, on the White Way 
as an assiduous first-nighter, in the sporting fra- 
ternity as a keen plunger. But of all his hobbies, 
none had gained him more notoriety than his 
veritable passion for collecting diamonds. 

He came by his sobriquet honestly. I remembered 
once having seen him, and he was, in fact, a walking 
De Beers mine. For his personal adornment, more 
than a million dollars’ worth of gems did relay duty. 
He had scores of sets, every one of them fit for a 
king of diamonds. It was a curious hobby for a 
great, strong man, yet he was not alone in his love 
of and sheer affection for things beautiful. Not love 
of display or desire to attract notice to himself had 
prompted him to collect diamonds, but the mere 
pleasure of owning them, of associating with them. 
It was a hobby. 

It was not strange, therefore, to suspect that 
Mansfield might, after all, have been the victim of 
some kind of attack. He went about with perfect 
freedom, in spite of the knowledge that crooks must 
have possessed about his hoard. 

“What makes you think he has been poisoned?” 
asked Kennedy, betraying no show of doubt that 
Miss Grey might be right. 

“Oh, it’s so strange, so sudden!” she murmured. 

“But how do you think it could have happened?” 
he persisted. 

“It must have been at the little supper-party he 
gave at his apartment last night,” she answered, 
27 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


thoughtfully, then added, more slowly, “and yet, 
it was not until this morning, eight or ten hours after 
the party, that he became ill.” She shuddered. 
“Paroxysms of nausea, followed by stupor and such 
terrible prostration. His valet discovered him and 
sent for Doctor Murray — and then for me.” 

“How about the robbery?” prompted Kennedy, 
as it became evident that it was Mansfield’s physical 
condition more than anything else that was on Miss 
Grey’s mind. 

“Oh yes” — she recalled herself — “I suppose you 
know something of his gems? Most people do.” 
Kennedy nodded. “He usually keeps them in a 
safe-deposit vault down-town, from which he will 
get whatever set he feels like wearing. Last night 
it was the one he calls his sporting-set that he wore, 
by far the finest. It cost over a hundred thousand 
dollars, and is one of the most curious of all the 
studies in personal adornment that he owns. All the 
stones are of the purest blue-white and the set is 
entirely based on platinum. 

“But what makes it most remarkable is that it 
contains the famous M-1273, as he calls it. The M 
stands for Mansfield, and the figures represent the 
number of stones he had purchased up to the time 
that he acquired this huge one.” 

“How could they have been taken, do you think?” 
ventured Kennedy. Miss Grey shook her head 
doubtfully. 

“I think the wall safe must have been opened 
somehow,” she returned. 

Kennedy mechanically wrote the number, M- 
1273, on a piece of paper. 

28 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


“It has a weird history,” she went on, observing 
what he had written, “and this mammoth blue- 
white diamond in the ring is as blue as the famous 
Hope diamond that has brought misfortune through 
half the world. This stone, they say, was pried 
from the mouth of a dying negro in South Africa. 
He had tried to smuggle it from the mine, and 
when he was caught cursed the gem and every one 
who ever should own it. One owner in Amsterdam 
failed; another in Antwerp committed suicide; a 
Russian nobleman was banished to Siberia, and 
another went bankrupt and lost his home and 
family. Now here it is in Mr. Mansfield’s life. I — • 
I hate it !” I could not tell whether it was the super- 
stition or the recent events themselves which weighed 
most in her mind, but, at any rate, she resumed, 
somewhat bitterly, a moment later: “M-1273! M 
is the thirteenth letter of the alphabet, and 1, 2, 7, 3 
add up to thirteen. The first and last numbers 
make thirteen, and John Mansfield has thirteen 
letters in his name. I wish he had never worn the 
thing — never bought it!” 

The more I listened to her the more impressed 
I was with the fact that there was something more 
here than the feeling of a private secretary. 

“Who were in the supper-party?” asked Kennedy. . 

“He gave it for Madeline Hargrave — the pretty) 
little actress, you know, who took New York by 
storm last season in ‘The Sport’ and is booked, 
next week, to appear in the new show, ‘The Astor 
Cup.’ ” 

Miss Grey said it, I thought, with a sort of wistful 
envy. Mansfield’s gay little bohemian gatherings 
29 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


were well known. Though he was not young, he 
was still somewhat of a Lothario. 

“Who else was there?” asked Kennedy. 

“Then there was Mina Leitch, a member of Miss 
Hargrave’s new company,” she went on. “Another 
was Fleming Lewis, the Wall Street broker. Doctor 
Murray and myself completed the party.” 

“Doctor Murray is his personal physician?” vent- 
ured Craig. 

“Yes. You know when Mr. Mansfield’s stomach 
went back on him last year it was Doctor Murray 
who really cured him.” 

Kennedy nodded. 

‘ ‘ Might this present trouble be a recurrence of the 
old trouble?” 

She shook her head. “ No ; this is entirely different. 
Oh, I wish that you could go with me and see him!” 
she pleaded. 

“I will,” agreed Kennedy. 

A moment later we were speeding in a taxicab 
over to the apartment. 

“Really,” she remarked, nervously, “I feel lost 
with Mr. Mansfield so ill. He has so many interests 
down-town that require constant attention that 
just the loss of time means a great deal. Of course, 
I understand many of them — but, you know, a 
private secretary can’t conduct a man’s business. 
And just now, when I came up from the office, 1 
couldn’t believe that he was too ill to care about 
things until I actually saw him.” 

We entered the apartment. A mere glance about 
showed that, even though Mansfield’s hobby was 
diamonds, he was no mean collector of other articles 

AO 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


of beauty. In the big living-room, which was almost 
like a studio, we met a tall, spare, polished-mannered 
man, whom I quickly recognized as Doctor Murray. 

“Is he any better?” blurted out Miss Grey, even 
before our introductions were over. Doctor Murray 
shook his head gravely. 

“About the same,” he answered, though one could 
find little reassurance in his tone. 

“I should like to see him,” hinted Kennedy, 
“unless there is some real reason why I should not.” 

“No,” replied the doctor, absently; “on the 
contrary, it might perhaps rouse him.” 

He led the way down the hall, and Kennedy and 
I followed, while Miss Grey attempted to busy her- 
self over some affairs at a huge mahogany table in 
the library just off the living-room. 

Mansfield had shown the same love of luxury and 
the bizarre even in the furnishing of his bedroom, 
which was a black-and-white room with furniture of 
Chinese lacquer and teakwood. 

Kennedy looked at the veteran plunger long and 
thoughtfully as he lay stretched out, listless, on the 
handsome bed. Mansfield seemed completely indif- 
ferent to our presence. There was something un- 
canny about him. Already his face was shrunken, 
his skin dark, and his eyes were hollow. 

“What do you suppose it is?” asked Kennedy, 
bending over him, and then rising and averting his 
head so that Mansfield could not hear, even if his 
vagrant faculties should be attracted. “His pulse is 
terribly weak and his heart scarcely makes a sound.” 

Doctor Murray’s face knit in deep lines. 

“I’m afraid,” he said, in a low tone, “that I will 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


have to admit not having been able to diagnose the 
trouble. I was just considering whom I might call 
in.” 

“What have you done?” asked Kennedy, as the 
two moved a little farther out of ear-shot of the 
patient. 

“Well,” replied the doctor, slowly, “when his 
valet called me in, I must admit that my first im- 
pression was that I had to deal with a case of diph- 
theria. I was so impressed that I even took a blood 
-smear and examined it. It showed the presence of a 
tox albumin. But it isn’t diphtheria. The anti- 
toxin has had no effect. No; it isn’t diphtheria. 
But the poison is there. I might have thought it 
was cholera, only that seems so impossible here in 
New York.” Doctor Murray looked at Kennedy 
with no effort to conceal his perplexity. ‘ ‘ Over and 
over I have asked myself what it could be,” he went 
on. “It seems to me that I have thought over about 
everything that is possible. Always I get back to 
the fact that there is that tox albumin present. In 
some respects, it seems like the bite of a poisonous 
animal. There are no marks, of course, and it seems 
altogether impossible, yet it acts precisely as I have 
seen snake bites affect people. I am that desperate 
that I would try the Noguchi antivenene, but it 
would have no more effect than the antitoxin. No; 
I can only conclude that there is some narcotic irri- 
tant which especially affects the lungs and heart.” 

“Will you let me have one of the blood smears?” 
asked Kennedy. 

“Certainly,” replied the doctor, reaching over and 
taking a glass slide from several lying on a table. 

32 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


For some time after we left the sick-room Craig 
appeared to be considering what Doctor Murray 
had said. 

Seeking to find Miss Grey in the library, we found 
ourselves in the handsome, all-wood-paneled dining- 
room. It still showed evidences of the late banquet 
of the night before. 

Craig paused a moment in doubt which way to go, 
then picked up from the table a beautifully decorated 
menu-card. As he ran his eye down it mechanically, 
he paused. 

“Champignons ,” he remarked, thoughtfully. “H-m! 
— mushrooms.’ * 

Instead of going on toward the library, he turned 
and passed through a swinging door into the kitchen. 
There was no one there, but it was in a much more 
upset condition than the dining-room. 

“Pardon, monsieur ,” sounded a voice behind us. 

It was the French chef who had entered from the 
direction of the servants’ quarters, and was now all 
apologies for the untidy appearance of the realm 
over which he presided. The strain of the dinner 
had been too much for his assistants, he hastened to 
explain. 

“I see that you had mushrooms — creamed,” 
remarked Kennedy. 

“ Oui , monsieur ,” he replied; “some that Miss 
Hargrave herself sent in from her mushroom-cellar 
out in the country.” 

As he said it his eye traveled involuntarily toward 
a pile of ramekins on a table. Kennedy noticed it 
and deliberately walked over to the table. Before I 
knew what he was about he had scooped from them 
33 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


each a bit of the contents and placed it in some 
waxed paper that was lying near by. The chef 
watched him curiously. 

“You would not find my kitchen like this ordi- 
narily,” he remarked. “I would not like to have 
Doctor Murray see it, for since last year, when 
monsieur had the bad stomach, I have been very 
careful.” 

The chef seemed to be nervous. 

“You prepared the mushrooms yourself?” asked 
Kennedy, suddenly. 

“I directed my assistant,” came back the wary 
reply. 

“But you know good mushrooms when you see 
them?” 

“Certainly,” he replied, quickly. 

“There was no one else in the kitchen while you 
prepared them?” 

“Yes,” he answered, hurriedly; “Mr. Mansfield 
came in, and Miss Hargrave. Oh, they are very 
particular! And Doctor Murray, he has given me 
special orders ever since last year, when monsieur 
had the bad stomach,” he repeated. 

“Was any one else here?” 

“Yes — I think so. You see, I am so excited — a 
big dinner — such epicures — everything must be just 
so — I cannot say.” 

There seemed to be little satisfaction in quizzing 
the chef, and Kennedy turned again into the dining- 
room, making his way back to the library, where 
Miss Grey was waiting anxiously for us. 

“What do you think?” she asked, eagerly. 

“I don’t know what to think,” replied Kennedy. 

34 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


“No one else has felt any ill effects from the supper, 
I suppose?” 

“No,” she replied; “at least, I’m sure I would 
have heard by this time if they had.” 

Do you recall anything peculiar about the 
mushrooms?” shot out Kennedy. 

“We talked about them some time, I remember,” 
she said, slowly. * ‘ Growing mushrooms is one of 
Miss Hargrave’s hobbies out at her place on Long 
Island.” 

“Yes,” persisted Kennedy; “but I mean any- 
thing peculiar about the preparation of them.” 

“Why, yes,” she said, suddenly; “I believe that 
Miss Hargrave was to have superintended them 
herself. We all went out into the kitchen. But it 
was too late. They had been prepared already.” 

“You were all in the kitchen?” 

“Yes; I remember. It was before the supper and 
just after we came in from the theater-party which 
Mr. Mansfield gave. You know Mr. Mansfield is 
always doing unconventional things like that. If he 
took a notion, he would go into the kitchen of the 
Ritz.” 

‘ ‘ That is what I was trying to get out of the chef — * 
Francois,” remarked Kennedy. “He didn’t seem 
to have a very clear idea of what happened. I 
think I’ll see him again — right away.” 

We found the chef busily at work, now, cleaning 
up. As Kennedy asked him a few inconsequential 
questions, his eye caught a row of books on a shelf. 
It was a most complete library of the culinary arts. 
Craig selected one and turned the pages over rapidly. 
Then he came back to the frontispiece, which showed 
35 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


a model dinner-table set for a number of guests. 
He placed the picture before Francois, then with- 
drew it in, I should say, about ten seconds. It was 
a strange and incomprehensible action, but I was 
more surprised when Kennedy added: 

“Now tell me what you saw.” 

Francois was quite overwhelming in his desire to 
please. Just what was going on in his mind I could 
not guess, nor did he betray it, but quickly he 
enumerated the objects on the table, gradually 
slowing up as the number which he recollected 
became exhausted. 

“Were there candles?” prompted Craig, as the 
flow of Francois’s description ceased. 

“Oh yes, candles,” he agreed, eagerly. 

“Favors at each place?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

I could see no sense in the proceeding, yet knew 
Kennedy too well to suppose, for an instant, that 
he had not some purpose. 

The questioning over, Kennedy withdrew, leaving 
poor Francois more mystified than ever. 

“Well,” I exclaimed, as we passed through the 
dining-room, “what was all that?” 

“That,” he explained, “is what is known to 
criminologists as the ‘ Aussage test.’ Just try it 
some time when you get a chance. If there are, say, 
fifty objects in a picture, normally a person may 
recall perhaps twenty of them.” 

“I see,” I interrupted; “a test of memory.” 

“More than that,” he replied. “You remember 
that, at the end, I suggested several things likely 
to be on the table. They were not there, as you 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 

might have seen if you had had the picture before 
you. That was a test of the susceptibility to sug- 
gestion of the chef. Frangois may not mean to lie, 
but I’m afraid we’ll have to get along without him 
in getting to the bottom of the case. You see, 
before we go any further we know that he is unre- 
liable — to say the least. It may be that nothing at 
all happened in the kitchen to the mushrooms. 
We’ll never discover it from him. We mt/ get it 
elsewhere.” 

Miss Grey had been trying to straighten out some 
of the snarls which Mansfield’s business affairs had 
got into as a result of his illness ; but it was evident 
that she had difficulty in keeping her mind on her 
work. 

“The next thing I’d like to see,” asked Kennedy, 
when we rejoined her, “is that wall safe.” 

She led the way down the hall and into an ante- 
room to Mansfield’s part of the suite. The safe 
itself was a comparatively simple affair inside a 
closet. Indeed, I doubt whether it had been seriously 
designed to be burglar-proof. Rather it was merely 
a protection against fire. 

“Have you any suspicion about when the robbery 
took place?” asked Kennedy, as we peered into the 
empty compartment. “I wish I had been called in 
the first thing when it was discovered. There might 
have been some chance to discover finger-prints. 
But now, I suppose, every clue of that sort has been 
obliterated.” 

“No,” she replied; “I don’t know whether it 
happened before or after Mr. Mansfield was dis- 
covered so ill by his valet.” 

4 37 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“But at least you can give me some idea of when 
the jewels were placed in the safe.” 

“It must have been before the supper, right after 
our return from the theater.” 

“So?” considered Kennedy. “Then that would 
mean that they might have been taken by any one, 
don’t you see? Why did he place them in the safe 
so soon, instead of wearing them the rest of the 
evening?” 

“I hadn’t thought of that way of looking at it,” 
she admitted. “Why, when we came home from 
the theater I remember it had been so warm that 
Mr. Mansfield’s collar was wilted and his dress shirt 
rumpled. He excused himself, and when he returned 
he was not wearing the diamonds. We noticed it, 
and Miss Hargrave expressed a wish that she might 
wear the big diamond at the opening night of ‘The 
Astor Cup.’ Mr. Mansfield promised that she might 
and nothing more was said about it.” 

“Did you notice anything else at the dinner — no 
matter how trivial?” asked Kennedy. 

Helen Grey seemed to hesitate, then said, in a 
low voice, as though the words were wrung from her : 

“Of course, the party and the supper were given 
ostensibly to Miss Hargrave. But — lately — I have 
thought he was paying quite as much attention to 
Mina Leitch.” 

It was quite in keeping with what we knew of 
“Diamond Jack.” Perhaps it was this seeming 
fickleness which had saved him from many en- 
tangling alliances. Miss Grey said it in such a way 
that it seemed like an apology for a fault in his 
character which she would rather have hidden. Yet 
38 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


I could not but fancy that it mitigated somewhat 
the wistful envy I had noticed before when she spoke 
of Madeline Hargrave. 

While he had been questioning her Kennedy had 
been examining the wall safe, particularly with 
reference to its accessibility from the rest of the 
apartment. There appeared to be no reason why 
one could not have got at it from the hallway as well 
as from Mansfield’s room. 

The safe itself seemed to yield no clue, and 
Kennedy was about to turn away when he happened 
to glance down at the dark interior of the closet 
floor. He stooped down. When he rose he had 
something in his hand. It was just a little thin 
piece of something that glittered iridescently. 

“A spangle from a sequin dress,” he muttered to 
himself; then, turning to Miss Grey, “Did any one 
wear such a dress last night?” 

Helen Grey looked positively frightened. “Miss 
Hargrave!” she murmured, simply. “Oh, it cannot 
be — there must be some mistake!” 

Just then we heard voices in the hall. 

“But, Murray, I don’t see why I can’t see him,” 
said one. 

“What good will it do, Lewis?” returned the 
other, which I recognized as that of Doctor Murray. 

“Fleming Lewis,” whispered Miss Grey, taking a 
step out into the hallway. 

A moment later Doctor Murray and Lewis had 
joined us. 

I could see that there was some feeling between 
the two men, though what it was about I could not 
say. As Miss Grey introduced us, I glanced hastily 
39 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


out of the comer of my eye at Kennedy. Involun- 
tarily his hand which held the telltale sequin had 
sought his waistcoat pocket, as though to hide it. 
Then I saw him check the action and deliberately 
examine the piece of tinsel between his thumb and 
forefinger. 

Doctor Murray saw it, too, and his eyes were 
riveted on it, as though instantly he saw its sig- 
nificance. 

“What do you think — Jack as sick as a dog, and 
robbed, too, and yet Murray says I oughtn’t to see 
him!” complained Lewis, for the moment oblivious 
to the fact that all our eyes were riveted on the 
spangle between Kennedy’s fingers. And then, 
slowly it seemed to dawn on him what it was. 
“Madeline’s!” he exclaimed, quickly. “So M’ina 
did tear it, after all, when she stepped on the train.” 

Kennedy watched the faces before us keenly. No 
one said anything. It was evident that some such 
incident had happened. But had Lewis, with a 
quick flash of genius, sought to cover up something, 
protect somebody? 

Miss Grey was evidently anxious to transfer the 
scene at least to the living-room, away from the 
sick-room, and Kennedy, seeing it, fell in with the 
idea. 

“Looks to me as though this robbery was an 
inside affair,” remarked Lewis, as we all stood for 
a moment in the living-room. ‘ * Do you suppose one 
of the servants could have been ‘planted’ for the 
purpose of pulling it off?” 

The idea was plausible enough. Yet, plausible as 
the suggestion might seem, it took no account of 
40 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


the other circumstances of the case. I could not 
believe that the illness of Mansfield was merely an 
unfortunate coincidence. 

Fleming Lewis’s unguarded and blunt tendency to 
blurt out whatever seemed uppermost in his mind 
soon became a study to me as we talked together in 
the living-room. I could not quite make out whether 
it was studied and astute or whether it was merely 
the natural exuberance of youth. There was cer- 
tainly some sort of enmity between him and the 
doctor, which the remark about the spangle seemed 
to fan into a flame. 

Miss Grey manoeuvered tactfully, however, to 
prevent a scene. And, after an interchange of re- 
marks that threw more heat than light on the 
matter, Kennedy and I followed Lewis out to the 
elevator, with a parting promise to keep in touch 
with Miss Grey. 

“What do you think of the spangle?” I queried 
of Craig as Lewis bade us a hasty good-by and 
climbed into his car at the street-entrance. “Is it 
a clue or a stall?” 

“That remains to be seen,” he replied, non- 
committally. “Just now the thing that interests 
me most is what I can accomplish at the laboratory 
in the way of finding out what is the matter with 
Mansfield.” 

While Kennedy was busy with the various solu- 
tions which he made of the contents of the ramekins 
that had held the mushrooms, I wandered over to 
the university library and waded through several 
volumes on fungi without learning anything of value. 
Finally, knowing that Kennedy would probably be 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


busy for some time, and that all I should get for my 
pains by questioning him would be monosyllabic 
grunts until he was quite convinced that he was on 
the trail of something, I determined to run into the 
up- town office of the Star and talk over the affair 
as well as I could without violating what I felt had 
been given us in confidence. 

I could not, it turned out, have done anything 
better, for it seemed to be the gossip of the Broadway 
cafes and cabarets that Mansfield had been plunging 
rather deeply lately and had talked many of his 
acquaintances into joining him in a pool, either 
outright or on margins. It seemed to be a safe bet 
that not only Lewis and Doctor Murray had joined 
him, but that Madeline Hargrave and Mina Leitch, 
who had had a successful season and some spare 
thousands to invest, might have gone in, too. So 
far the fortunes of the stock-market had not smiled 
on Mansfield’s schemes, and, I reflected, it was not 
impossible that what might be merely an incident 
to a man like Mansfield could be very serious to the 
rest of them. 

It was the middle of the afternoon when I re- 
turned to the laboratory with my slender budget of 
news. Craig was quite interested in what I had to 
say, even pausing for a few moments in his work to 
listen. 

In several cages I saw that he had a number of 
little guinea-pigs. One of them was plainly in dis- 
tress, and Kennedy had been watching him intently. 

“It’s strange,” he remarked. “ I had samples of 
material from six ramekins. Five of them seem to 
have had no effect whatever. But if the bit that I 
42 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 

gave this fellow causes such distress, what would a 
larger quantity do?” 

“Then one of the ramekins was poisoned?” I 
questioned. 

“I have discovered in it, as well as in the blood 
smear, the tox albumin that Doctor Murray men- 
tioned,” he said, simply, pulling out his watch. “It 
isn’t late. I think I shall have to take a trip out to 
Miss Hargrave’s. We ought to do it in an hour and 
a half in a car.” 

Kennedy said very little as we sped out over the 
Long Island roads that led to the little colony of 
actors and actresses at Cedar Grove. He seemed 
rather to be enjoying the chance to get away from 
the city and turn over in his mind the various 
problems which the case presented. 

As for myself, I had by this time convinced myself 
that, somehow, the mushrooms were involved. What 
Kennedy expected to find I could not guess. But 
from what I had read I surmised that it must be 
that one of the poisonous varieties had somehow got 
mixed with the others, one of the Amanitas, just as 
deadly as the venom of the rattler or the copper- 
head. I knew that, in some cases, Amanitas had 
been used to commit crimes. Was this such a case? 

We had no trouble in finding the estate of Miss 
Hargrave, and she was at home. 

Kennedy lost no time introducing himself and 
coming to the point of his visit. Madeline Hargrave 
was a slender, willowy type of girl, pronouncedly 
blond, striking, precisely the type I should have 
imagined that Mansfield would have been proud to 
be seen with. 


43 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Eve just heard of Mr. Mansfield’s illness,” she 
said, anxiously. “Mr. Lewis called me up and told 
me. I don’t see why Miss Grey or Doctor Murray 
didn’t let me know sooner.” 

She said it with an air of vexation, as though she 
felt slighted. In spite of her evident anxiety to know 
about the tragedy, however, I did not detect the 
depth of feeling that Helen Grey had shown. In 
fact, the thoughtfulness of Fleming Lewis almost 
led me to believe that it was he, rather than Mans- 
field, for whom she really cared. 

We chatted a few minutes, as Kennedy told what 
little we had discovered. He said nothing about the 
spangle. 

“By the way,” remarked Craig, at length, “I 
would very much like to have a look at that famous 
mushroom- cellar of yours.” 

For the first time she seemed momentarily to lose 
her poise. 

“I’ve always had a great interest in mushrooms,” 
she explained, hastily. “You — you do not think it 
could be the mushrooms — that have caused Mr. 
Mansfield’s illness, do you?” 

Kennedy passed off the remark as best he could 
under the circumstances. Though she was not satis- 
fied with his answer, she could not very well refuse 
his request, and a few minutes later we were down in 
the dark dampness of the cellar back of the house, 
where Kennedy set to work on a most exhaustive 
search. 

I could see by the expression on his face, as his 
search progressed, that he was not finding what he 
had expected. Clearly, the fungi before us were the 
44 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


common edible mushrooms. The upper side of 
each, as he examined it, was white, with brownish 
fibrils, or scales. Underneath, some were a beauti- 
ful salmon-pink, changing gradually to almost black 
in the older specimens. The stem was colored like 
the top. But search as he might for what I knew he 
was after, in none did he find anything but a small 
or more often no swelling at the base, and no “cup, ” 
as it is called. 

As he rose after his thorough search, I saw that 
he was completely baffled. 

“I hardly thought you’d find anything,” Miss 
Hargrave remarked, noticing the look on his face. 
“I’ve always been very careful of my mushrooms.” 

“You have certainly succeeded admirably,” he 
complimented. 

* * I hope you will let me know how Mr. Mansfield 
is,” she said, as we started back toward our car on 
the road. “I can’t tell you how I feel. To think 
that, after a party which he gave for me, he should 
be taken ill, and not only that but be robbed at the 
same time! Really, you must let me know — or I 
shall have to come up to the city.” 

It seemed gratuitous for Kennedy to promise, 
for I knew that he was by no means through with 
her yet; but she thanked him, and we turned back 
toward town. 

“Well,” I remarked, as we reeled off the miles 
quickly, “I must say that that puts me all at sea 
again. I had convinced myself that it was a case of 
mushroom poisoning. What can you do now?” 

“Do?” he echoed. “Why, go on. This puts us a 
step nearer the truth, that’s all.” 

45 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Far from being discouraged at what had seemed 
to me to be a fatal blow to the theory, he now seemed 
to be actually encouraged. Back in the city, he 
lost no time in getting to the laboratory again. 

A package from the botanical department of the 
university was waiting there for Kennedy, but before ’ 
he could open it the telephone buzzed furiously. 

I could gather from Kennedy’s words that it was 
Helen Grey. 

“I shall be over immediately,” he promised, as he 
hung up the receiver and turned to me. “Mansfield 
is much worse. While I get together some material 
I must take over there, Walter, I want you to call 
up Miss Hargrave and tell her to start for the city 
right away — meet us at Mansfield’s. Then get 
Mina Leitch and Lewis. You’ll find their numbers 
in the book — or else you’ll have to get them from 
Miss Grey.” 

While I was delivering the messages as diplo- 
matically as possible Kennedy had taken a vial from 
a medicine-chest, and then from a cabinet a machine 
which seemed to consist of a number of collars and 
belts fastened to black cylinders from which ran 
tubes. An upright roll of ruled paper supported by 
a clockwork arrangement for revolving it, and a 
standard bearing a recording pen, completed the 
outfit. 

“I should much have preferred not being hur- 
ried,” he confessed, as we dashed over, in the car to 
Mansfield’s again, bearing the several packages. “I 
wanted to have a chance to interview Mina Leitch 
alone. However, if has now become a matter of life 
or death.” 


46 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


Miss Grey was pale and worn as she met us in the 
living-room. 

“He’s had a sinking- spell,” she said, tremulously. 
“Doctor Murray managed to bring him around, but 
he seems so much weaker after it. Another might — ” 
She broke off, unable to finish. 

A glance at Mansfield was enough to convince 
any one that unless something was done soon the 
end was not far. 

“Another convulsion and sinking- spell is about 
all he can stand,” remarked Doctor Murray. 

“May I try something?” asked Kennedy, hardly 
waiting for the doctor to agree before he had pulled 
out the little vial which I had seen him place in his 
pocket. 

Deftly Kennedy injected some of the contents into 
Mansfield’s side, then stood anxiously watching the 
effect. The minutes lengthened. At least he seemed 
to be growing no worse. 

In the next room, on a table, Kennedy was now 
busy setting out the scroll of ruled paper and its 
clockwork arrangement, and connecting the various 
tubes from the black cylinders in such a way that 
the recording pen just barely touched on the scroll. 

He had come back to note the still unchanged con- 
dition of the patient when the door opened and a 
handsome woman in the early thirties entered, fol- 
lowed by Helen Grey. It was Mina Leitch. 

“Oh, isn’t it terrible! I can hardly believe it!” 
she cried, paying no attention to us as she moved 
over to Doctor Murray. 

I recalled what Miss Grey had said about Mans- 
field’s attentions. It was evident that, as far as Mina 
47 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


was concerned, her own attentions were monopo- 
lized by the polished physician. His manner in 
greeting her told me that Doctor Murray appreciated 
it. Just then Fleming Lewis bustled in. 

“I thought Miss Hargrave was here,” he said, 
abruptly, looking about. “They told me over the' 
wire she would be.” 

“She should be here any moment,” returned 
Kennedy, looking at his watch and finding that con- 
siderably over an hour had elapsed since I had 
telephoned. 

What it was I could not say, but there was a cold- 
ness toward Lewis that amounted to more than 
latent hostility. He tried to appear at ease, but it 
was a decided effort. There was no mistaking his 
relief when the tension was broken by the arrival of 
Madeline Hargrave. 

The circumstances were so strange that none of 
them seemed to object while Kennedy began to 
explain, briefly, that, as nearly as he could determine, 
the illness of Mansfield might be due to something 
eaten at the supper. As he attached the bands about 
the necks and waists of one after another of the 
guests, bringing the little black cylinders thus close 
to the middle of their chests, he contrived to convey 
the impression that he would like to determine 
whether any one else had been affected in a lesser 
degree. 

I watched most intently the two women who had 
just come in. One would certainly not have de- 
tected from their greeting and outward manner any- 
thing more than that they were well acquainted. 
But they were an interesting study, two quite op- 
48 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


posite types. Madeline, with her baby-blue eyes, 
was of the type that craved admiration. Mina’s 
black eyes flashed now and then imperiously, as 
though she sought to compel what the other sought 
to win. 

As for Fleming Lewis, I could not fail to notice 
that he was most attentive to Madeline, though he 
watched, furtively, but none the less keenly, every 
movement and w r ord of Mina. 

His preparations completed, Kennedy opened the 
package which had been left at the laboratory just 
before the hasty call from Miss Grey. As he did so 
he disclosed several specimens of a mushroom of 
pale-lemon color, with a center of deep orange, the 
top flecked with white bits. Underneath, the gills 
were white and the stem had a sort of veil about it. 
But what interested me most, and what I was look- 
ing for, was the remains of a sort of dirty, chocolate- 
colored cup at the base of the stem. 

“I suppose there is scarcely any need of saying,” 
began Kennedy, “that the food which I suspect in 
this case is the mushrooms. Here I have some 
which I have fortunately been able to obtain merely 
to illustrate what I am going to say. This is the 
deadly Amanita muscaria, the fly-agaric.” 

Madeline Hargrave seemed to be following him 
with a peculiar fascination. 

“This Amanita,” resumed Kennedy, “has a long 
history, and I may say that few species are quite so 
interesting. Macerated in milk, it has been em- 
ployed for centuries as a fly-poison, hence its name. 
Its deadly properties were known to the ancients, and 
it is justly celebrated because of its long and dis- 
49 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


tinguished list of victims. Agrippina used it to 
poison the Emperor Claudius. Among others, the 
Czar Alexis of Russia died of eating it. 

“I have heard that some people find it only a 
narcotic, and it is said that in Siberia there are 
actually Amanita debauchees who go on prolonged 
tears by eating the thing. It may be that it does not 
affect some people as it does others, but in most 
cases that beautiful gossamer veil which you see 
about the stem is really a shroud. 

4 ‘The worst of it is,” he continued, “that this 
Amanita somewhat resembles the royal agaric, the 
Amanita casarea. It is, as you see, strikingly beau- 
tiful, and therefore all the more dangerous.” 

He ceased a moment, while we looked in a sort of 
awe at the fatally beautiful thing. 

“It is not with the fungus that I am so much 
interested just now, however,” Kennedy began again, 
“but with the poison. Many years ago scientists 
analyzed its poisonous alkaloids and found what 
they called bulbosine. Later it was named muscarin, 
and now is sometimes known as amanitin, since it 
is confined to the mushrooms of the Amanita genus. 

“Amanitin is a wonderful and dangerous alkaloid, 
which is absorbed in the intestinal canal. It is ex- 
tremely violent. Three to five one- thousandths of 
a gram, or six one-hundredths of a grain, are very 
dangerous. More than that, the poisoning differs 
from most poisons in the long time that elapses 
between the taking of it and the first evidences of 
its effects. 

“Muscarin,” Kennedy concluded, “ has been 
chemically investigated more often than any other 
So 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 

mushroom poison and a perfect antidote has been 
discovered. Atropin, or belladonna, is such a drug.” 

For a moment I looked about at the others in the 
room. Had it been an accident, after all ? Perhaps, 
if any of the others had been attacked, one might 
.have suspected that it was. But they had not been 
I affected at all, at least apparently. Yet there could 
be no doubt that it was the poisonous muscarin that 
had affected Mansfield. 

“Did you ever see anything like that?” asked 
Kennedy, suddenly, holding up the gilt spangle 
which he had found on the closet floor near the wall 
safe. 

Though no one said a word, it was evident that 
they all recognized it. Lewis was watching Madeline 
closely. But she betrayed nothing except mild sur- 
prise at seeing the spangle from her dress. Had it 
been deliberately placed there, it flashed over me, in 
order to compromise Madeline Hargrave and divert 
suspicion from some one else? 

I turned to Mina. Behind the defiance of her 
dark eyes I felt that there was something working. 
Kennedy must have sensed it even before I did, for 
he suddenly bent down over the recording needle 
and the ruled paper on the table. 

: “This,” he shot out, “is a pneumograph which 

shows the actual intensity of the emotions by record- 
ing their effects on the heart and lungs together. 
The truth can literally be tapped, even where no 
confession can be extracted. A moment’s glance at 
this line, traced here by each of you, can tell the 
expert more than words.” 

“Then it was a mushroom that poisoned Jack!” 

5i 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


interrupted Lewis, suddenly. “Some poisonous 
Amanita got mixed with the edible mushrooms?” 

Kennedy answered, quickly, without taking his 
eyes off the line the needle was tracing: 

“No; this was a case of the deliberate use of the 
active principle itself, muscarin — with the expecta- 
tion that the death, if the cause was ever discovered, 
could easily be blamed on such a mushroom. Some- 
how — there were many chances — the poison was 
slipped into the rameldn Frangois was carefully 
preparing for Mansfield. The method does not 
interest me so much as the fact — ” 

There was a slight noise from the other room where 
Mansfield lay. Instantly we were all on our feet. 
Before any of us could reach the door Helen Grey 
had slipped through it. 

“Just a second,” commanded Kennedy, extending 
the sequin toward us to emphasize what he was 
about to say. “The poisoning and the robbery were 
the work of one hand. That sequin is the key that 
has unlocked the secret which my pneumograph 
has recorded. Some one saw that robbery com- 
mitted — knew nothing of the contemplated poison- 
ing to cover it. To save the reputation of the robber 
— at any cost — on the spur of the moment the ruse 
of placing the sequin in the closet occurred.” 

Madeline Hargrave turned to Mina, while I re- 
called Lewis’s remark about Mina’s stepping on the 
train and tearing it. The defiance in her black eyes 
flashed from Madeline to Kennedy. 

“Yes,” she cried; “I did it! I — ” 

As quickly the defiance had faded. Mina Leitch 
had fainted. 


52 


THE TRUTH-DETECTOR 


4 ‘Some water — quick !” cried Kennedy. 

I sprang through the door into Mansfield’s room. 
As I passed I caught sight of Helen Grey supporting 
the head of Mansfield — both oblivious to actresses, 
diamonds, everything that had so nearly caused a 
tragedy. 

“No,” I heard Kennedy say to Lewis as I re- 
turned; “it was not Mina. The person she shielded 
was wildly in love with her, insanely jealous of Mans- 
field for even looking at her, and in debt so hope- 
lessly in Mansfield’s ventures that only the big 
diamond could save him — Doctor Murray himself!” 

5 


v. 


Ill 


THE SOUL- ANALYSIS 

“ LJERE’S the most remarkable appeal,” observed 
A A Kennedy, one morning, as he tossed over to me 
a letter. “What do you make of that?” It read: 

Montrose, Conn. 

My Dear Professor Kennedy: 

You do not know me, but I have heard a great deal about you. 
Please, I beg of you, do not disregard this letter. At least try 
to verify the appeal I am making. 

I am here at the Belleclaire Sanatorium, run by Dr. Bolton 
Biur, in Montrose. But it is not a real sanatorium. It is really 
a private asylum. 

Let me tell my story briefly. After my baby was bom I 
devoted myself to it. But, in spite of everything, it died. Mean- 
while my husband neglected me terribly. After the baby’s 
death I was a nervous wreck, and I came up here to rest. 

Now I find I am being held here as an insane patient. I cannot 
get out. I do not even know whether this letter will reach you. 
But the chambermaid here has told me she will post it for me. 

I am ill and nervous — a wreck, but not insane, although they 
will tell you that the twilight-sleep treatment affected my mind. 
But what is happening here will eventually drive me insane if 
some one does not come to my rescue. 

Cannot you get in to see me as a doctor or friend? I will 
leave all to you after that. 

Yours anxiously, 

Janet (Mrs. Roger) Cranston. 

54 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


*'What do you make of it yourself?” I returned, 
handing back the letter. “Are you going to take it 
up?” He slowly looked over the letter again. 

“Judging by the handwriting,” he remarked, 
thoughtfully, “I should say that the writer is labor- 
ing under keen excitement — though there is no 
evidence of insanity on the face of it. Yes; I think 
I’ll take up the case.” 

“But how are you going to get in?” I asked. 
“They’ll never admit you willingly.” 

Kennedy pondered a minute. “I’ll get in, all 
right,” he said, at length; “come on — I’m going to 
call on Roger Cranston first.” 

“Roger Cranston?” I repeated, dumfounded. 
“Why, he’ll never help you! Ten to one he’s in on 
it.” 

“We’ll have to take a chance,” returned Kennedy, 
hurrying me out of the laboratory. 

Roger Cranston was a well-known lawyer and man 
about town. We found him in his office on lower 
Broadway. He was young and distinguished-looking, 
which probably accounted for the fact that his office 
had become a sort of fashionable court of domestic 
relations. 

“I’m a friend of Dr. Bolton Burr, of Montrose,” 
introduced Kennedy. Cranston looked at him 
1 keenly, but Kennedy was a good actor. ‘ ‘ I have 
been studying some of the patients at the sanatorium, 
and I have seen Mrs. Cranston there.” 

“Indeed!” responded Cranston. “I’m all broken 
up by it myself.” 

I could not resist thinking that he took it very 
calmly, however. 


55 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“I should like very much to make what we call a 
psychanalysis of Mrs. Cranston’s mental condition,” 
Kennedy explained. 

“A psychanalysis?” repeated Cranston. 

“Yes; you know it is a new system. In the field, 
of abnormal psychology, the soul-analysis is of first 
importance. To-day, this study is of the greatest 
help in neurology and psychiatry. Only, I can’t 
make it without the consent of the natural guardian 
of the patient. Doctor Burr tells me that you will 
have no objection.” 

Cranston thoughtfully studied the wall opposite. 

“Well,” he returned, slowly, “they tell me that 
without treatment she will soon be hopelessly in- 
sane — perhaps dangerously so. That is all I know. 

I am not a specialist. If Doctor Burr — ” He 
paused. 

“If you can give me just a card,” urged Kennedy, 
“that is all Doctor Burr wishes.” 

Cranston wrote hastily on the back of one of his 
cards what Kennedy dictated. 

Please allow Doctor Kennedy to make a psychanalysis of my 
wife’s mental condition. 

“You will let me know — if there is — any hope?” 
he asked. 

'‘As soon as I can,” replied Kennedy, “I’ll let 
you have a copy of my report.” \ 

Cranston thanked us and bowed us to the door 
suavely. 

“Well,” I remarked, as we rode down in the ele- 
vator, “that was clever. He fell for it, too. You’re 
an artist. Do you think he was posing?” 

56 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


Kennedy shrugged his shoulders. 

We lost no time in getting the first train for Mon- 
trose, before Cranston had time to reconsider and 
call up Doctor Burr. 

The Belleclaire Sanatorium was on the outskirts 
of the town. It was an old stone house, rather dingy, 
and surrounded by a high stone wall surmounted by 
sharp pickets. 

Dr. Bolton Burr, who was at the head of the in- 
stitution, met us in the plainly furnished reception- 
room which also served as his office. Through a 
window we could see some of the patients walking 
or sitting about on a small stretch of scraggly grass 
between the house and the wall. 

Doctor Burr was a tall and commanding-looking 
man with a Vandyke beard, and one would instinc- 
tively have picked him out anywhere as a physician. 

“I believe you have a patient here — Mrs. Roger 
Cranston,” began Kennedy, after the usual formali- 
ties. Doctor Burr eyed us askance. “I’ve been 
asked by Mr. Cranston to make an examination of 
his wife,” pursued Craig, presenting the card which 
he had obtained from Roger Cranston. 

“H’m!” mused Doctor Burr, looking quickly from 
the card to Kennedy with a searching glance. 

“I wish you would tell me something of the case 
before I see her,” went on Kennedy, with absolute 
assurance. 

“Well,” temporized Doctor Burr, twirling the 
card, “Mrs. Cranston came to me after the death of 
her child. She was in a terrible state. But we are 
slowly building up her shattered nerves by plain, 
simple living and a tonic.” 

57 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Was she committed by her husband ?” queried 
Kennedy, unexpectedly. 

Whether or not Doctor Burr felt suspicious of us 
I could not tell. But he seemed eager .to justify 
himself. 

“I have the papers committing her to my care,” 
he said, rising and opening a safe in the comer. 

He laid before us a document in which appeared 
the names of Roger Cranston and Julia Giles. 

“Who is this Julia Giles?” asked Kennedy, after 
he had read the document. 

“One of our nurses,” returned the doctor. “She 
has had Mrs. Cranston under observation ever since 
she arrived.” 

“I should like to see both Miss Giles and Mrs. 
Cranston,” insisted Kennedy. “It is not that Mr. 
Cranston is in any way dissatisfied with your treat- 
ment, but he thought that perhaps I might be of 
some assistance to you.” 

Kennedy’s manner was ingratiating but firm, 
and he hurried on, lest it should occur to Doctor 
Burr to call up Cranston. The doctor, still twirling 
the card, finally led us through the wide central hall 
and up an old-fashioned winding staircase to a large 
room on the second floor. 

He tapped at the door, w T hich was opened, dis- 
closing an interior tastefully furnished. 

Doctor Burr introduced us to Miss Giles, convey- 
ing the impression, which Kennedy had already 
given, that he was a specialist, and I his assistant. 

Janet Cranston was a young and also remarkably 
beautiful girl. One could see traces of sorrow in her 
face, which was exceedingly, though not unpleas- 
58 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


ingly, pale. The restless brilliancy of her eyes spoke 
of some physical, if not psychical, disorder. 

She was dressed in deep mourning, which height- 
ened her pallor and excited a feeling of mingled 
respect and interest. Thick brown coils of chestnut 
hair were arranged in such a manner as to give an 
extremely youthful appearance to her delicate face. 
Her emotions were expressed by the constant motion 
of her slender fingers. 

Miss Giles was a striking woman of an entirely 
different type. She seemed to be exuberant with 
health, as though nursing had taught her not merely 
how to take care of others, but had given her the 
secret of caring, first of all, for herself. 

I could see, as Doctor Burr introduced us to his 
patient, that Mrs. Cranston instantly recognized 
Kennedy’s interest in her case. She received us with 
a graceful courtesy* but she betrayed no undue 
interest that might excite suspicion, nor was there 
any hint given of the note of appeal. I wondered 
whether that might not be an instance of the cunning 
for which I had heard that the insane are noted. 
She showed no sign of insanity, however. 

I looked about curiously to see if there were evi- 
dences of the treatment which she was receiving. On 
a table stood a bottle and a glass, as well as a teaspoon, 
and I recalled the doctor’s remark about the tonic. 

“You look tired, Mrs. Cranston,” remarked 
Kennedy, thoughtfully. “Why not rest while we 
are here, and then I will be sure my visit has had no 
ill effects.” 

“Thank you,” she murmured, and I was much 
impressed by the sweetness of her voice. 

59 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

As he spoke, Kennedy arranged the pillows on a 
chaise longue and placed her on it with her' head 
slightly elevated. Having discussed the subject of 
psychanalysis with Kennedy before, I knew that 
this was so that nothing might distract her from the 
free association of ideas. 

He placed himself near her head, and motioned to 
us to stand farther back of him. where she could not 
see us. 

“Avoid all muscular exertion and distraction,” 
he continued. “I want you to concentrate your 
attention thoroughly. Tell me anything that comes 
into your mind. Tell all you know of your symp- 
toms. Concentrate, and repeat all you think of. 
Frankly express all the thoughts that you have, even 
though they may be painful and embarrassing.” 

He said this soothingly, and she seemed to under- 
stand that much depended upon her answers and 
the fact of not forcing her ideas. 

“I am thinking of my husband,” Mrs. Cranston 
began, finally, in a dreamy tone. 

“What of him?” suggested Kennedy. 

“Of how the baby — separated us — and — ” She 
paused, almost in tears. 

From what I knew of the method of psychanalysis, 
I recalled it was the gaps and hesitations which were 
most important in arriving at the truth regarding 
the cause of her trouble 

1 1 Perhaps it was my fault ; perhaps I was a better 
mother than wife. I thought I was doing what he 
would want me to do. Too late I see my mistake.” 

It was easy to read into her story that there had 
been other women in his life. It had wounded her 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 

deeply. Yet it was equally plain that she still loved 
him. 

“Go on,” urged Kennedy, gently. 

“Oh yes,” she resumed, dreamily; “I am think- 
ing about once, when I left him, I wandered through 
the country. I remember little except that it was 
the country through which we had passed on an 
automobile trip on our honeymoon. Once I thought 
I saw him, and I tried to get to him. I longed for 
him, but each time, when I almost reached him, he 
would disappear. I seemed to be so deserted and 
alone. I tried to call him, but my tongue refused 
to say his name. It must have been hours that I 
wandered about, for I recall nothing after that until 
I was found, disheveled and exhausted.” 

She paused and closed her eyes, while I could see 
that Kennedy considered this gap very important. 

“Don’t stop,” persisted Kennedy. 

“Once we quarreled over one of his clients who 
was suing for a divorce. I thought he was devoting 
too much time and attention to her. While there 
might not have been anything wrong, still I was 
afraid. In my anger and anxiety I accused him. 
He retorted by slamming the door, and I did not 
see him for two or three days. I realized my nervous 
condition, and one day a mutual friend of ours in- 
troduced me to Doctor Burr and advised me to take 
a rest-cure at his sanatorium. By this time Roger 
and I were on speaking-terms again. But the death 
of the baby and the quarrel left me still as nervous 
as before. He seemed anxious to have me do some- 
thing, and so I came here.” 

‘ ‘ Do you remember anything that happened after 
61 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


that?” asked Craig, for the first time asking a mildly 
leading question. 

“Yes; I recall everything that happened when I 
came here,” she went on. “Roger came up with me 
to complete the necessary arrangements. We were 
met at the station by Doctor Burr and this woman 
who has since been my nurse and companion. On 
the way up from the station to the sanatorium 
Doctor Burr was very considerate of me, and I 
noticed that my husband seemed interested in Miss 
Giles and the care she was to take of me.” 

Kennedy flashed a glance at me from a note-book 
in which he was apparently busily engaged in jotting 
down her answers. I did not know just what inter- 
pretation to put on it, but surmised that it meant 
that he had struck what the new psychologists call a 
“complex,” in the entrance of Miss Giles into the case. 

Before we realized it. there came a sudden out- 
burst of feeling. 

“And now — they are keeping me here by force!” 
she cried. 

Doctor Burr looked at us significantly, as much as 
to say, “Just what might be expected, you see.” 
Kennedy nodded, but made no effort to stop Mrs. 
Cranston. 

“They have told Roger that I am insane, and I 
know he must believe it or he would not leave me 
here. But their real motive, I can guess, is mercen- 
ary. I can’t complain about my treatment here — 
it costs enough.” 

By this time she was sitting bolt upright, staring 
straight ahead as though amazed at her own bold- 
ness in speaking so frankly before them. 

62 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


“I feel all right at times — then — it is as though I 
had a paralysis of the body, but not of the mind — • 
not of the mind,” she repeated, tensely. There was 
a frightened look on her face, and her voice was now 
wildly appealing. 

What would have followed I cannot guess, for 
at that instant there came a noise outside from 
another of the rooms as though pandemonium had 
broken loose. By the shouting and confusion, one 
might easily have wondered whether keepers and 
lunatics might not have exchanged places. 

“It is just one of the patients who has escaped 
from his room,” explained Doctor Burr; “nothing 
to be alarmed about. We’ll soon have him quieted.” 

Doctor Burr hurried out into the corridor while 
Miss Giles was looking out of the door. 

Quickly Kennedy reached over and abstracted 
several drops from a bottle of tonic on the table, 
pouring it into his handkerchief, which he rolled up 
tightly and stuffed into his pocket. Mrs. Cranston 
watched him pleadingly, and clasped her hands in 
mute appeal, with a hasty glance at Miss Giles. 

Kennedy said nothing, either, but rapidly folded 
up a page of the note-book on which he had been 
writing and shoved it into Mrs. Cranston’s hand, 
together with something he had taken from his 
pocket. She understood, and quickly placed it in 
her corsage. 

“Read it — when you are absolutely alone,” he 
whispered, just as Miss Giles shut the door and 
turned to us. 

The excitement subsided almost as quickly as it 
had arisen, but it had been sufficient to put a stop 
63 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


to any further study of the case along those lines. 
Miss Giles’s keen eyes missed no action or move- 
ment of her patient. 

Doctor Burr returned shortly. It was evident 
from his manner that he wished to have the visit 
terminated, and Kennedy seemed quite willing to 
take the hint. He thanked Mrs. Cranston, and we 
withdrew quietly, after bidding her good-by in a 
manner as reassuring as we could make it under the 
circumstances. 

“You see,” remarked Doctor Burr, as we walked 
down the hall, “she is quite unstrung still. Mr. 
Cranston comes up here once in a while, and we 
notice that after these visits she is, if anything, 
worse.” 

Down the hall a door had been left open, and we 
could catch a glimpse of a patient rolled in a blanket, 
while two nurses forced something down his throat. 
Doctor Burr hastily closed the door as we passed. 

‘ ‘ That is the condition Mrs. Cranston might have 
got into if she had not come to us when she did,” 
he said. “As it is, she is never violent and is one of 
the most tractable patients we have.” 

We left shortly, without finding out whether 
Doctor Burr suspected us of anything or not. As we 
made our way back to the city, I could not help the 
feeling of depression such as Poe mentioned at seeing 
the private madhouse in France. 

“That glimpse we had into the other room almost 
makes one recall the soothing system of Doctor 
Maillard. Is Doctor Burr’s system better?” I asked. 

“A good deal of what we used to think and practise 
is out of date now,” returned Kennedy. “I think 
64 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


you are already familiar with the theory of dreams 
that has been developed by Dr. Sigmund Freud, of 
Vienna. But perhaps you are not aware of the fact 
that Freud’s contribution to the study of insanity 
is of even greater scientific value than his dream 
theories taken by themselves. 

* ‘ Hers, I feel sure now, is what is known as one of 
the so-called ‘border-line cases,’ ” he continued. 
‘ ‘It is clearly a case of hysteria — not the hysteria one 
hears spoken of commonly, but the condition which 
scientists know as such. We trace the impulses from 
which hysterical conditions arise, penetrate the dis- 
guises which these repressed impulses or wishes must 
assume in order to appear in the consciousness. Such 
transformed impulses are found in normal people, 
too, sometimes. The hysteric suffers mostly from 
reminiscences which, paradoxically, may be com- 
pletely forgotten. 

“Obsessions and phobias have their 6rigin, accord- 
ing to Freud, in sexual life. The obsession repre- 
sents a compensation or substitute for an unbearable 
sexual idea and takes its place in consciousness. In 
normal sexual life, no neurosis is possible, say the 
Freudists. Sex is the strongest impulse, yet subject 
to the greatest repression, and hence the weakest 
point of our cultural development. Hysteria arises 
through the conflict between libido and sex-repres- 
sion. Often sex-wishes may be consciously rejected 
but unconsciously accepted. So when they are 
understood every insane utterance has a reason. 
There is really method in madness. 

“When hysteria in a wife gains her the attention 
of an otherwise inattentive husband it fills, from 

65 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the standpoint of her deeper longing, an important 
place, and, in a sense, may be said to be desirable. 
The great point about the psychanalytic method, as 
discovered by Breuer and Freud, is that certain symp- 
toms of hysteria disappear when the hidden causes 
are brought to light and the repressed desires are 
gratified.” 

“How does that apply to Mrs. Cranston?” I 
queried. 

“Mrs. Cranston,” he replied, “is suffering from 
what the psychanalysts call a psychic trauma — a 
soul- wound, as it were. It is the neglect, in this case, 
of her husband, whom she deeply loves. That, in 
itself, is sufficient to explain her experience wander- 
ing through the country. It was the region which 
she associated with her first love-affair, as she told 
us. The wave of recollection that swept over her 
engulfed her mind. In other words, reason could no 
longer dominate the cravings for a love so long sup- 
pressed. Then, when she saw, or imagined she saw, 
one who looked like her lover the strain was too 
great.” 

It was the middle of the afternoon when we 
reached the laboratory. Kennedy at once set to 
work studying the drops of tonic which had been 
absorbed in the handkerchief. As Kennedy worked, 
I began thinking over again of what we had seen at 
the Belleclaire Sanatorium. Somehow or other, I 
could not get out of my mind the recollection of the 
man rolled in the blanket and trussed up as helpless 
as a mummy. I wondered whether that alone was 
sufficient to account for the quickness -with which 
he had been pacified. Then I recalled Mrs. Cran- 
66 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


ston’s remark about her mental alertness and 
physical weakness. Had it anything to do with 
the “tonic ”? 

“Suppose, while I am waiting,” I finally suggested 
to Craig, ‘ ‘ I try to find out what Cranston does with 
his time since his wife has been shut off from the 
world.” 

“That’s a very good idea,” acquiesced Kennedy. 
“Don’t take too long, however, for I may strike 
something important here any minute.” 

After several inquiries over the telephone, I found 
that since his wife had been in Montrose Cranston 
had closed his apartment and was living at one of 
his clubs. Having two or three friends who were 
members, I did not hesitate to drop around. 

Unfortunately, none of my friends happened to 
be there, and I was forced, finally, to ask for Cranston 
himself, although all that I really wanted to know 
w$s whether he was there or not. One of the clerks 
told me that he had been in, but had left in a taxicab 
only a short time before. 

As there was a cab-stand outside the club, I de- 
termined to make an inquiry and perhaps discover 
the driver who had had him. The starter knew 
him, and when I said that it was very important 
business on which I wanted to see him he motioned 
to a driver who had just pulled up. v 

A chance for another fare and a generous tip were ' 
all that was necessary to induce him to drive me to 
the Trocadero, a fashionable restaurant and cabaret, 
where he had taken Cranston a short time before. 
It was crowded when I entered, and, avoiding the 
headwaiter, I stood by the door a few minutes and 

67 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


looked over the brilliant and gay throng. Finally, 
I managed to catch a glimpse of Cranston’s head at 
a table in a far comer. As I made my way down the 
line of tables, I was genuinely amazed to see that he 
was with a woman. It was Julia Giles! 

She must have come down on the next train after 
we did, but, at any rate, it looked as though she had 
lost no time in seeking out Cranston after our visit. 
I took a seat at a table next them. 

They were talking about Kennedy, and, during a 
lull in the music, I overheard him asking her just 
what Craig had done. 

‘ ‘ It was certainly very clever in him to play both 
you and Doctor Burr the way he did. He told Doctor 
Burr that you had sent him, and told you that Doc- 
tor Burr had sent him. By whom do you suppose 
he really was sent?” 

“Could it have been my wife?” 

“It must have been, but how she did it is more 
than I can imagine.” 

“How is she, anyway?” he asked. 

“Sometimes she seems to be getting along finely, 
and then, other days, I feel quite discouraged about 
her. Her case is very obstinate.” 

“Perhaps I had better go out and see Burr,” he 
considered. “It is early in the evening. I’ll drive 
you out in my car. I’ll stay at the sanatorium to- 
night, and then, perhaps, I’ll know a little better 
what we can do.” 

It was his tone rather than his words which gave 
me the impression that he was more interested in 
being with Miss Giles than with Mrs. Cranston. I 
wondered whether it was a plot of Cranston’s and 
68 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 

Miss Giles’s. Had he been posing before Kennedy, 
and were they really trying to put Mrs. Cranston 
out of the way? 

As the music started up again, I heard her say, 
“ Can’t we have just one more dance?” 

A moment later they were lost in the gay whirl 
on the dancing-floor. They made a handsome couple, 
and it was evident that it was not the first time that 
they had dined and danced together. The music 
ceased, and they returned to their places reluctantly, 
while Cranston telephoned for his car to be brought 
around to the cabaret. 

I hastened back to the laboratory to inform Craig 
what I had seen. As I told my story he looked up at 
me with a sudden flash of comprehension. 
v “I am glad to know where they will all be to- 
night,” he said. “Some one has been giving her 
henbane — hyoscyamin. I have just discovered it in 
the tonic.” 

“What’s henbane?” I asked. 

“It is a drug derived from the hyoscyamus plant, 
much like belladonna, though more distinctly seda- 
tive. It is a hypnotic used often in mania and mental 
excitement. The feeling which Mrs. Cranston de- 
scribed is one of its effects. You recall the brightness 
of her eyes? That is one of the effects of the my- 
driatic alkaloids, of which this is one. The ancients 
were familiar with several of its peculiar properties, 
as they knew of the closely allied poison hemlock. 

“Many of the text-books at the present time fail 
to say anything about the remarkable effect produced 
by large doses of this terrible alkaloid. This effect 
can be described technically so as to be intelligible, 

6 69 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


but no description can convey, even approximately, 
the terrible sensation produced in many insane 
patients by large doses. In a general way, it is the 
condition of paralysis of the body without the cor- 
responding paralysis of the mind.” 

“And it’s this stuff that somebody has been 
putting into her tonic?” I asked, startled. “Do 
you suppose that is part of Burr’s system, or did 
Miss Giles lighten her work by putting it into the 
tonic?” 

Kennedy did not betray his suspicion, but went 
on describing the drug which was having such a 
serious effect on Mrs. Cranston. 

“The victim lies in an absolutely helpless condi- 
tion sometimes with his muscles so completely par- 
alyzed that he cannot so much as mpve a finger, 
cannot close his lips or move his tongue to moisten 
them. This feeling of helplessness is usually followed 
by unconsciousness and then by a period o*f depres- 
sion. The combined feeling of helplessness and de- 
pression is absolutely unlike any other feeling imagin- 
able, if I may judge from the accounts of those who 
have experienced it. Other sensations, such as pain, 
may be judged, in a measure, by comparison with 
other painful sensations, but the sensation produced 
by hyoscyamin in large doses seems to have no basis 
for comparison. There is no kindred feeling. Prac- 
tically every institution for the insane used it a few 
years ago for controlling patients, but now better 
methods have been devised.” 

“The more I think of what I saw at the Troca- 
dero,” I remarked, “the more I wonder if Miss 
Giles has been seeking to win Cranston herself.” 

70 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 

“In large -enough doses and repeated often 
enough, ’ ’ continued Kennedy, ‘ ‘ I suppose the toxic 
effect of the drug might be to produce insanity. At 
any rate, if we are going to do anything, it might 
better be done at once. They are all out there 
now. If we act to - night, surely we shall have 
the best chance of making the guilty person betray 
himself.” 

Kennedy telephoned for a fast touring-car, and 
in half an hour, while he gathered some apparatus 
together, the car was before the door. In it he placed 
a couple of light silk-rope ladders, some common 
wooden wedges, and an instrument which resembled 
a surveyor’s transit with two conical horns sticking 
out at the ends. 

We made the trip out of New York and up the 
Boston post-road, following the route which Cran- 
ston and Miss Giles must have taken some hours 
before us. In the town of Montrose, Kennedy 
stopped only long enough to get a bite to eat and to 
study up in the roads in the vicinity. 

It was long after midnight when we struck up 
into the country. The night was very dark, thick, 
and foggy. With the engine running as muffled as 
possible and the lights dimmed, Kennedy quietly 
jammed on the brakes as we pulled up along the 
side of the road. 

A few rods farther ahead I could make out the 
Belleclaire Sanatorium surrounded by its picketed 
stone wall. Not a light was visible in any of the 
windows. 

“Now that we’re here,” I whispered, “what can 
we do?” 


7i 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“You remember the paper I gave Mrs. Cranston 
when the excitement in the hall broke loose?” 

“Yes,” I nodded, as we moved over under the 
shadow of the wall. 

, “I wrote on a sheet from my note-book,” said 
Kennedy, ‘ ‘ and told her to be ready when she heard 
a pebble strike the window; and I gave her a piece 
of string to let down to the ground.” 

Kennedy threw the silk ladder up until it caught 
on one of the pickets; then, with the other ladder 
and the wedges, he reached the top of the wall, fol- 
lowed by me. We pulled the first ladder up as we 
clung to the pickets, and let it down again inside. 
Noiselessly we crossed the lawn. 

Above was Mrs. Cranston’s window. Craig 
picked up some bits of broken stone from a walk 
about the house and threw them gently against the 
pane. Then we drew back into the shadow of the 
house, lest any prying eyes might discover us. In 
a few minutes the window on the second floor was 
stealthily opened. The muffled figure of Mrs. 
Cranston appeared in the dim light; then a piece 
of string was lowered. 

To it Kennedy attached a light silk ladder and 
motioned in pantomime for her to draw it up. It 
took her some time to fasten the ladder to one of 
( the heavy pieces of furniture in the room. Swaying 
from side to side, but clinging with frantic despera- 
tion to the ladder while we did our best to steady it, 
she managed to reach the ground. She turned from 
the building with a shudder, and whispered : 

“This terrible place! How can I ever thank you 
for getting me out of it?” 

72 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


Kennedy did not pause long enough to say a word, 
but hurried her across to the final barrier, the wall. 

Suddenly there was a shout of alarm from the 
front of the house under the columns. It was the 
night watchman, who had discovered us. 

Instantly Kennedy seized a chair from a little 
summer-house. 

“Quick, Walter,” he cried, “over the wall with 
Mrs. Cranston, while I hold him! Then throw the 
ladder back on this side. I’ll join you in a moment, 
as soon as you get her safely over.” 

A chair is only an indifferent club, if that is all one 
can think of using it for. Kennedy ran squarely at 
the watchman, holding it out straight before him. 
Only once did I cast a hasty glance back. There 
was the man pinned to the wall by the chair, with 
Kennedy at the other end of it and safely out of 
reach. 

Mrs. Cranston and I managed to scramble over 
the wall, although she tore her dress on the pickets 
before we reached the other side. I hustled her into 
the car and made everything ready to start. It was 
only a couple of minutes after I threw the ladder 
back before Craig rejoined us. 

“How did you get away from the watchman?” I 
demanded, breathlessly, as we shot away. 

‘ ‘ I forced him back with the chair into the hall and 
slammed the door. Then I jammed a wedge under 
it,” he chuckled. “That will hold it better than 
any lock. Every push will jam it tighter.” 

Above the hubbub, inside now, we could hear a 
loud gong sounding insistently. All about were 
lights flashing up at the windows and moving through 
73 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the passageways. Shouts came from the back of the 
house as a door was finally opened there. But we 
were off now, with a good start. 

I could imagine the frantic telephoning that was 
going on in the sanatorium. And I knew that the 
local police of Montrose and every other town about 
us were being informed of the escape. They were 
required by the law to render all possible assistance, 
and, as the country boasted several institutions quite 
on a par with Belleclaire, an attempt at an escape 
was not an unusual occurrence. 

The post-road by which we had come was there- 
fore impossible, and Kennedy swung up into the 
country, in the hope of throwing off pursuit long 
enough to give us a better chance. 

“Take the wheel, Walter,” he muttered. “I’ll 
tell you what turns to make. We must get to the 
State line of New York without being stopped. We 
can beat almost any car. But that is not enough. A 
telephone message ahead may stop us, unless we 
can keep from being seen.” 

I took the wheel, and did not stop the car as 
Kennedy climbed over the seat. In the back of the 
car, where Mrs. Cranston was sitting, he hastily 
adjusted the peculiar apparatus. 

“Sounds at night are very hard to locate,” he 
explained. “Up this side road, Walter; there is 
some one coming ahead of us.” 

I turned and shot up the detour, stopping in the 
shadow of some trees, where we switched off every 
light and shut down the engine. Kennedy continued 
to watch the instrument before him. 

“What is it?” I whispered. 

74 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


“A phonometer,” he replied. “It was invented 
to measure the intensity of sound. But it is much 
more valuable as an instrument that tells with pre- 
cision from what direction a sound comes. It needs 
only a small dry battery and can be carried around 
easily. The sound enters the two horns of the pho- 
nometer, is focused at the neck, and strikes on a del- 
icate diaphragm, behind which is a needle. The 
diaphragm vibrates and the needle moves. The 
louder the sound the greater the movement of this 
needle. 

“At this end, where it looks as though I were sight- 
ing like a surveyor, I am gazing into a lens, with a 
tiny electric bulb close to my eye. The light of this 
bulb is reflected in a mirror which is moved by the 
moving needle. When the sound is loudest the two 
horns are at right angles to the direction whence it 
comes. So it is only necessary to twist the phonom- 
eter about on its pivot until the sound is received 
most loudly in the horns and the band of light is 
greatest. I know then that the horns are at right 
angles to the direction from which the sound pro- 
ceeds, and that, as I lift my head, I am looking 
straight toward the source of the sound. I can tell 
its direction to a few degrees.” 

I looked through it myself to see how sound was 
visualized by light. 

“Hush!” cautioned Kennedy. 

Down on the main road we could see a car pass 
along slowly in the direction of Montrose, from which 
we had come. Without the phonometer to warn us, 
it must inevitably have met us and blocked our 
escape over the road ahead. 

75 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


That danger passed, on we sped. Five minutes, 
I calculated, and we should cross the State line to 
New York and safety. 

We had been going along nicely when, “Bang!” 
came a loud report back of us. 

‘ ‘ Confound it ! ” muttered Kennedy ; “a blowout I 
always when you least expect it.” 

AVe climbed out of the car and had the shoe off 
in short order. 

“Look!” cried Janet Cranston, in a frightened 
voice, from the back of the car. 

The light of the phonometer had flashed up. A 
car was following us. 

“There’s just one chance!” cried Kennedy, spring- 
ing to the wheel. “We might make it on the rim.” 

Banging and pounding, we forged ahead, straining 
our eyes to watch the road, the distance, the time, 
and the phonometer all at once. 

It was no use. A big gray roadster was over- 
taking us. The driver crowded us over to the very 
edge of the road, then shot ahead, and, where the 
road narrowed down, deliberately pulled up across 
the road in such a way that we had to run into him 
or stop. 

Quickly Craig’s automatic gleamed in the dim 
beams from the side lights. 

“Just a minute,” cautioned a voice. “It was a 
plot against me, quite as much as it was against her 
— the nurse to lead me on, while the doctor got a 
rich patient. I suspected all was not right. That’s 
why I gave you the card. I knew you didn’t come 
from Burr. Then, when I heard nothing from you, 
I let the Giles woman think I was coming to Montrose 
;6 


THE SOUL-ANALYSIS 


to be with her. But, really, I wanted to beat that 
fake asylum — ” 

Two piercing headlights shone down the road 
back of us. We waited a moment until they, too, 
came to a stop. 

“Here they are!” shouted the voice of a man, as 
he jumped out, followed by a woman. 

Kennedy stepped forward, waving his automatic 
menacingly. 

“You are under arrest for conspiracy — both of 
you!” he cried, as we recognized Doctor Burr and 
Miss Giles. 

A little cry behind me startled me, and I turned. 
Janet Cranston had flung herself into the arms of the 
only person who could heal her wounded soul. 


IV 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 

“TT’S almost as though he had been struck down 
A by a spirit hand, Kennedy.” 

Grady, the house detective of the Prince Edward 
Charles Hotel, had routed us out of bed in the middle 
of the night with a hurried call for help, and now 
met us in the lobby of the fashionable hostelry. 
All that he had said over the wire was that there 
had been a murder — “an Englishman, a Captain 
Shirley.” 

“Why,” exclaimed Grady, lowering his voice as 
he led us through the lobby, “it’s the most mys- 
terious thing, I think, that I’ve ever seen!” 

“In what way?” prompted Kennedy. 

“Well,” continued Grady, “it must have been 
just a bit after midnight that one of the elevator- 
boys heard what sounded like a muffled report in a 
room on the tenth floor. There were other employ- 
ees and some guests about at the time, and it was 
only a matter of seconds before they were on the 
spot.* Finally, the sound was located as having come 
probably from Captain Shirley’s room. But the 
door was locked — on the inside. There was no 
response, although some one had seen him ride up 
in the elevator scarcely five minutes before. By 
78 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


that time they had sent for me. We broke in. 
There was Shirley, alone, fully dressed, lying on the 
floor before a writing-table. His face was horribly 
set, as though he had perhaps seen something that 
frightened and haunted him — though I suppose it 
might have been the pain that did it. I think he 
must have heard something, jumped from the chair, 
perhaps in fear, then have fallen down on the floor 
almost immediately. 

“We hurried over to him. He was still alive, but 
could not speak. I turned him over, tried to rouse 
him and make him comfortable. It was only then 
that I saw that he was really conscious. But it 
seemed as if his tongue and most of his muscles were 
paralyzed. Somehow he managed to convey to us 
the idea that it was his heart that troubled him 
most. 

“Really, at first I thought it was a case of suicide. 
But there was no sign of a weapon about and not a 
trace of poison — no glass, no packet. There was no 
wound on him, either — except a few slight cuts and 
scratches on his face and hands. But none of them 
looked to be serious. And yet, before we could get 
the house physician up to him he was dead.” 

“And with not a word?” queried Kennedy. 

“That’s the strangest part of it. No; not a word 
spoken. But as he lay there, even in spite of his 
paralyzed muscles, he was just able to motion with 
his hands. I thought he wanted to write, and gave 
him a pencil and a piece of paper. He clutched at 
them, but here is all he was able to do.” 

Grady drew from his pocket a piece of paper and 
handed it to us. On it were printed in trembling, 
79 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


irregular characters, “GAD,” the “D” scarcely 
finished and trailing off into nothing. 

What did it all mean? How had Shirley met his 
death, and why? 

“Tell me something about him,” said Kennedy, 
studying the paper with a frown. Grady shrugged 
his shoulders. 

“An Englishman — that’s about all I know. 
Looked like one of the younger sons who so fre- 
quently go out to seek their fortunes in the colonies. 
By his appearance, I should say he had been in the 
Far East — India, no doubt. And I imagine he had 
made good. He seemed to have plenty of money. 
That’s all I know about him.” 

“Is anything missing from his room?” I asked. 
“Could it have been a robbery?” 

“I searched the room hastily,” replied Grady. 
“Apparently not a thing had been touched. I don’t 
think it was robbery.” 

By this time we had made our way through the 
lobby and were in the elevator. 

‘ ‘ I’ve kept the room just as it was,” went on Grady 
to Kennedy, lowering his voice. “I’ve even delayed 
a bit in notifying the police, so that you could get 
here first.” 

A moment later we entered the rooms, a fairly 
expensive suite, consisting of a sitting-room, bed- 
room, and bath. Everything was in a condition to 
indicate that Shirley had just come in when the 
shot, if shot it had been, was fired. 

There, on the floor, lay his body, still in the same 
attitude in which he had died and almost as Grady 
had found him gasping. Grady’s description of the 
80 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 

horrible look on his face was, if anything, an under- 
statement. 

As I stood with my eyes riveted on the horror- 
stricken face on the floor, Kennedy had been quietly 
going over the furniture and carpet about the body. 

“Look!” he exclaimed at last, scarcely turning to 
us. On the chair, the writing-table, and even on the 
walls were little pitted marks and scratches. He 
bent down over the carpet. There, reflecting the 
electric light, scattered all about, were little fine 
pieces of something that glittered. 

“You have a vacuum cleaner, I suppose?” in- 
quired Craig, rising quickly. 

“Certainly — a plant in the cellar.” 

“No; I mean one that is portable.” 

“Yes; we have that, too,” answered Grady, hurry- 
ing to the room telephone to have the cleaner sent up. 

Kennedy now began to look through Shirley’s 
baggage. There was, however, nothing to indicate 
that it had been rifled. 

I noted, among other things, a photograph of a 
woman in Oriental dress, dusky, languorous, of more 
than ordinary beauty and intelligence. On it some- 
thing was written in native characters. 

Just then a boy wheeled the cleaner down the 
hall, and Kennedy quickly shoved the photograph 
into his pocket. 

First, Kennedy removed the dust that was already 
in the machine. Then he ran the cleaner carefully 
over the carpet, the upholstery, everything about 
that corner of the room where the body lay. When 
he had finished he emptied out the dust into a paper 
and placed it in his pocket. He was just finishing 
81 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

when there came a knock at the door, and it was 
opened. 

“Mr. Grady ?” said a young man, entering 
hurriedly. 

‘ ‘ Oh, hello, Glenn ! One of the night clerks in the 
office, Kennedy,” introduced the house detective. 

“I’ve just heard of the — murder,” Glenn began. 
“I was in the dining-room, being relieved for my 
little midnight luncheon as usual, when I heard of 
it, and I thought that perhaps you might want to 
know something that happened just before I went off 
duty.” 

“Yes; anything,” broke in Kennedy. 

“It was early in the evening,” returned the clerk, 
slowly, “when a messenger left a little package for 
Captain Shirley — said that Captain Shirley had had 
it sent himself and asked that it be placed in his 
room. It was a little affair in a plain, paper- wrapped 
parcel. I sent one of the boys up with it and a key, 
and told him to put the package on the writing-desk 
up here.” 

Kennedy looked at me. That, then, was the way 
something, whatever it might be, was introduced 
into the room. 

“When the captain came in,” resumed the night 
clerk, ‘ ‘ I saw there was a letter for him in the mail- 
box and handed it to him. He stood before the 
office desk while he opened it. I thought he looked 
queer. The contents seemed to alarm him.” 

“What was in it?” asked Kennedy. “Could you 
see?” 

“I got one glimpse. It seemed to be nothing but 
a little scarlet bead with a black spot on it. In his 
82 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


surprise, he dropped a piece of paper from the 
envelope in which the bead had been wrapped up. 
I thought it was strange, and, as he hurried over to 
the elevator, I picked it up. Here it is.” 

The clerk handed over a crumpled piece of note- 
paper. On it was scrawled the word “Gadhr,” and 
underneath, “Beware!” I spelled out the first 
strange word. It had an ominous sound — “Gadhr.” 
Suddenly there flashed through my mind the letters 
Shirley had tried to print but had not finished, 
“GA D.” 

Kennedy looked at the paper a moment. 

“Gadhr!” he exclaimed, in a low, tense tone. 
“Revolt — the native word for unrest in India, the 
revolution !” 

We stared at each other blankly. All of us had 
been reading lately in the despatches about the 
troubles there, hidden under the ban of the censor- 
ship. I knew that the Hindu propaganda in America 
was as yet in its infancy, although several plots and 
conspiracies had been hatched here. 

“Is there any one in the hotel whom you might 
suspect?” asked Kennedy. 

Grady cleared his throat and looked at the night 
clerk significantly. 

“Well,” he answered, thoughtfully, “across the 
hall there is a new guest who came to-day — or, 
rather, yesterday — a Mrs. Anthony. We don’t 
know anything about her, except that she looks like 
a foreigner. She did not come directly from abroad, 
but must have been living in New York for some 
time. They tell me she asked for a room on this 
floor, at this end of the hall.” 

83 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“H’m!” considered Kennedy. “I’d like to see 
her — without being seen.” 

“I think I can arrange that,” acquiesced Grady. 
‘‘You and Jameson stay in the bedroom. I’ll ask 
her to come over here, and then you can get a good 
look at her.” 

The plan satisfied Kennedy, and together we 
entered the bedroom, putting out the light and 
leaving the door just a trifle ajar. 

A moment later Mrs. Anthony entered. I heard 
•a suppressed gasp from Kennedy. 

“The woman in the photograph!” he whispered 
to me. 

I studied her face minutely from our coign of 
vantage. There was, indeed, a resemblance, too 
striking to be mere coincidence. 

In the presence of Grady, she seemed to be nervous 
and on guard, as though she knew, intuitively, that 
she was suspected. 

“Did you know Captain Shirley?” shot out Grady. 

Kennedy looked over at me and frowned. I knew 
that something more subtle than New York police 
methods would be necessary in order to get anything 
from a woman like this. 

“No,” she replied, quietly. “You see, I just 
came here to-day.” Her voice had an English 
accent. 

“Did you hear a shot?” 

“No,” she replied. “The voices in the hall 
wakened me, though I did not know what was the 
matter until just now.” 

“Then you made no effort to find out?” inquired 
Grady, suspiciously. 


84 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


“I am alone here in the city,” she answered, 
simply. “I was afraid to intrude.” 

Throughout she gave the impression that she was 
strangely reticent about herself. Evidently Kennedy 
had not much faith that Grady would elicit anything 
of importance. He tiptoed to the door that led 
from the bedroom to the hall and found that it 
could be opened from the inside. 

While Grady continued his questioning, Craig and 
I slipped out into the hall to the room which Mrs. 
Anthony occupied. 

It was a suite much plainer than that occupied by 
Shirley. Craig switched on the light and looked 
about hastily and keenly. 

For a moment he stood before a dressing-table on 
which were several toilet articles. A jewel-case 
seemed to attract his attention, and he opened it. 
Inside were some comparatively trifling trinkets. 
The thing that caused him to exclaim, however, was 
a necklace, broken and unstrung. I looked, too. It 
was composed of little crimson beads, each with a 
black spot on it! 

Quickly he drew from his pocket the photo- 
graph he had taken from Shirley’s baggage. As I 
looked at it again there could be no doubt now in 
my mind of the identity of the original. It was the 
same face. And about the neck, in the picture, was 
a necklace, plainly the same as that before us. 

“What are the beads?” I asked, fingering them. 
“I’ve never seen anything like them.” 

“Not beads at all,” he replied. “They are Hindu 
prayer-beans, sometimes called ruttee, jequirity 
beans, seeds of the plant known to science as Abrus 
7 85 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


precatorius. They produce a deadly poison — abrin.’ , 
He slipped four or five of them into his pocket. 
Then he resumed his cursory search of the room. 
There, on a writing-pad, was a note which Mrs. 
Anthony had evidently been engaged in writing. 
Craig pored over it for some time, while I fidgeted. 
It was nothing but a queer jumble of letters: 

SOWC FSSJWA EKNLFFBY WOVHLX IHWAJYKH 
101MLEL EPJNVPSL WCLURL GHIHDA ELBA. 

“Come,” I cautioned; “she may return any 
moment.” 

Quickly he copied off the letters. 

“It’s a cipher,” he said, simply, “a new and 
rather difficult one, too, I imagine. But I may be 
able to decipher it.” 

Kennedy withdrew from the room and, instead of 
going back to Shirley’s, rode down in the elevator 
to find the night clerk. 

“Had Captain Shirley any friends in the city?” 
asked Craig. 

Glenn shrugged his shoulders. 

“He was out most of the time,” he replied. “He 
seemed to be very occupied about something. No, 
I don’t think I ever saw him speak to a soul here, 
except a word to the waiters and the boys. Once, 
though,” he recollected, “he was called up by a Mrs. 
Beekman Rogers.” 

“Mrs. Beekman Rogers,” repeated Kennedy, 
jotting the name down and looking it up in the tele- 
phone-book. She lived on Riverside Drive, and, 
86 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


slender though the information was, Kennedy 
seemed glad to get it. 

Grady joined us a moment later, having been 
wondering where we had disappeared. 

“You saw her?” he asked. “What did you think 
of her?” 

“Worth watching,” was all Kennedy would say. 
“Did you get anything out of her?” 

Grady shook his head. 

“But I am convinced she knows something,” he 
insisted. 

Kennedy was about to reply when he was inter- 
rupted by the arrival of a couple of detectives from 
the city police, tardily summoned by Grady. 

“I shall let you know the moment I have dis- 
covered anything,” he said, as he bade Grady 
good-by. “And thank you for letting me have a 
chance at the case before all the clues had been 
spoiled.” 

Late though it was, in the laboratory Kennedy 
set to work examining the dust which he had swept 
up by the vacuum cleaner, as well as the jequirity 
beans he had taken from Mrs. Anthony’s jewel-case. 

I do not know how much sleep he had, but I 
managed to snatch a few hours’ rest, and early in 
the morning I found him at work again, examining 
the cipher message which he had copied. 

“By the way,” he said, scarcely looking up as he 
saw me again, “there is something quite important 
which you can do for me.” Rather pleased to be of 
some use, I waited eagerly. “I wish you’d go out 
and see what you can find out about that Mrs. 
Beekman Rogers,” he continued. “I’ve some work 
87 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


here that will keep me for several hours; so come 
back to me here.” 

It was such a commission as he had often given 
me before, and, through my connection with the 
Star , I found no difficulty in executing it. 

I found that Mrs. Rogers was well known in a 
certain circle of society in the city. She was wealthy 
and had the reputation of having given quite liberally 
to many causes that had interested her. Just now, 
her particular fad was Oriental religions, and some 
of her bizarre beliefs had attracted a great deal of 
attention. A couple of years before she had made a 
trip around the world, and had lived in India for 
several months, apparently fascinated by the life 
and attracted to the mysteries of Oriental faiths. 

With my budget of information I hastened back 
again to join Kennedy at the laboratory. I could 
see that the cipher was still unread. From that, I 
conjectured that it was, as he had guessed, con- 
structed on some new and difficult plan. 

“What do you think of Mrs. Rogers?” I asked, as 
I finished reciting what I had learned. “Is it pos- 
sible that she can be in this revolutionary propa- 
ganda?” He shook his head doubtfully. 

“Much of the disaffection that exists in India 
to-day,” he replied, “is due to the encouragement 
and financial assistance which it has received from 
people here in this country, although only a fraction 
of the natives of India have ever heard of us. Much 
of the money devoted to the cause of revolution and 
anarchy in India is contributed by worthy people 
who innocently believe that their subscriptions are 
destined to promote the cause of native enlighten- 
88 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


ment. I prefer to believe that there is some such 
explanation in her case. At any rate, I think that 
we had better make a call on Mrs. Rogers.” 

Early that afternoon, accordingly, we found our- 
selves at the door of the large stone house on River- 
side Drive in which Mrs. Rogers lived. Kennedy 
inquired for her, and we were admitted to a large 
reception-room, the very decorations of which showed 
evidence of her leaning toward the Orient. Mrs. 
Rogers proved to be a widow of baffling age, good- 
looking, with a certain indefinable attractiveness. 

Kennedy’s cue was obvious. It was to be an eager 
neophyte in the mysteries of the East, and he played 
the part perfectly without overdoing it. 

“Perhaps you would like to come to some of 
the meetings of our Cult of the Occult,” she sug- 
gested. 

“Delighted, I am sure,” returned Kennedy. She 
handed him a card. 

“We have a meeting this afternoon at four,” she 
explained. “I should be glad to welcome you 
among us.” 

Kennedy thanked her and rose to go, preferring 
to say nothing more just then about the problems 
which vexed us in the Shirley case, lest it should 
make further investigation more difficult. 

Nothing more had happened at the hotel, as we 
heard from Grady a few minutes later, and, as there 
was some time before the cult met, we returned to 
the laboratory. 

Things had evidently progressed well, even in the 
few hours that he had been studying his meager 
evidence. Not only was he making a series of deli- 
80 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


cate chemical tests, but, in cases, he had several 
guinea-pigs which he was using also. 

He now studied through a microscope some of 
the particles of dust from the vacuum cleaner. 

“Little bits of glass,” he said, briefly, taking his 
eye from the eyepiece. “Captain Shirley was not 
shot.” 

“Not shot?” I repeated. “Then how was he 
killed?” 

Kennedy eyed me gravely. 

“Shirley was murdered by a poisoned bomb!” 

I said nothing, for the revelation was even more 
startling than I had imagined. 

“In that package which was placed in his room,” 
he went on, “must have been a little infernal machine 
of glass, constructed so as to explode the moment 
the wrapper was broken. The flying pieces of glass 
injected the poison as by a myriad of hypodermic 
needles — the highly poisonous toxin of abrin, product 
of the jequirity, which is ordinarily destroyed in the 
stomach but acts powerfully if injected into the 
blood. Shirley died of jequirity poisoning, or rather 
of the alkaloid in the bean. It has been used in 
India for criminal poisoning for ages. Only, there 
it is crushed, worked into a paste, and rolled into 
needle-pointed forms which prick the skin. Abrin is 
composed of two albuminous bodies, one of which 
resembles snake- venom in all its effects, attacking 
the heart, making the temperature fall rapidly, and 
leaving the blood fluid after death. It is a vegetable 
toxin, quite comparable with ricin from the castor- 
oil bean.” 

In spite of my horror at the diabolical plot that 
90 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


had been aimed at Shirley, my mind ran along, 
keenly endeavoring to piece together the scattered 
fragments of the case. Some one, of course, had sent 
the package while he was out and had it placed in 
his room. Had it been the same person who had 
sent the single jequirity bean? My mind instantly 
reverted to the strange woman across the hall, the 
photograph in his luggage, and the broken necklace 
in the jewel-case. 

Kennedy continued looking at the remainder of 
the jequirity beans and a liquid he had developed 
from some of them. Finally, with a glance at his 
watch, he placed a tube of the liquid in a leather case 
in his pocket. 

“This may not be the only murder,” he remarked, 
sententiously. “It is best to be prepared. Come; 
we must get up to that meeting.” 

We journeyed up-town and arrived at the little 
private hall which the Cult of the Occult had hired 
somewhat ahead of the time set for the meeting, as 
Kennedy had aimed to do. Mrs. Rogers was already 
there and met us at the door. 

“So glad to see you,” she welcomed, leading us in. 

As we entered we could breathe the characteristic 
pervading odor of sandalwood. Rich Oriental hang- 
ings were on the walls, interspersed with cabalistic^ 
signs, while at one end was a raised dais. 

Mrs. Rogers introduced us to a rather stout, 
middle-aged, sallow-faced individual in a turban and 
flowing robes of rustling purple silk. His eyes were 
piercing, small, and black. The plump, unhealthy, 
milk-white fingers of his hands were heavy with 
ornate rings. He looked like what I should have 
91 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


imagined a swami to be, and such, I found, was 
indeed his title. 

“The Swami Rajmanandra,” introduced Mrs. 
Rogers. 

He extended his flabby hand in welcome, while 
Kennedy eyed him keenly. We were not permitted 
many words with the swami, however, for Mrs. Rogers 
next presented us to a younger but no less interesting- 
looking Oriental who was in Occidental dress. 

“This is Mr. Singh Bandematarain,” said Mrs. 
Rogers. “You know, he has been sent here by the 
nizam of his province to be educated at the uni- 
versity.” 

Mrs. Rogers then hastened to conduct us to seats, 
as, one by one, the worshipers entered. They were 
mostly women of the aristocratic type who evidently 
found in this cult a new fad to occupy their jaded 
craving for the sensational. In the dim light, there 
was something almost sepulchral about the gather- 
ing, and their complexions seemed as white as wax. 

Again the door opened and another woman en- 
tered. I felt the pressure of Kennedy’s hand on my 
arm and turned my eyes unobtrusively. It was Mrs. 
Anthony. 

Quietly she seemed to glide over the floor toward 
the swami and, for a moment, stood talking to him. 
I saw Singh eye her with a curious look. Was it 
fear or suspicion? 

I had come expecting to see something weird and 
wild, perhaps the exhibition of an Indian fakir — 
I know not what. In that, at least, I was disap- 
pointed. The Swami Rajmanandra, picturesque 
though he was, talked most fascinatingly about his 
92 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


religion, but either the theatricals were reserved for 
an inner circle or else we were subtly suspected, for 
I soon found myself longing for the meeting to close 
so that we could observe those whom we had come 
to watch. 

I had almost come to the conclusion that our 
mission had been a failure when the swami con- 
cluded and the visitors swarmed forward to talk 
with the holy man from the East. Kennedy managed 
to make his way about the circle to Mrs. Rogers and 
soon w T as in an animated conversation. 

“Were you acquainted with a Captain Shirley?” 
he asked, finally, as she opened the way for the 
question by a remark about her life in Calcutta. 

“Y-yes,” she replied, hesitating; “I read in the 
papers this morning that he was found dead, most 
mysteriously. Terrible, wasn’t it? Yes, I met him 
in Calcutta while I was there. Why, he was on his 
way to London, and came to New York and called 
on me.” 

My eye followed the direction of Mrs. Rogers’s. 
She was talking to us, but really her attention was 
centered on Mrs. Anthony and the swami together. 
As I glanced back at her I caught sight of Singh, 
evidently engaged in watching the same two that I 
was. Did he have some suspicion of Mrs. Anthony? 
Why was he watching Mrs. Rogers? I determined 
to study the two women more closely. I saw that 
Kennedy had already noticed what I had seen. 

“One very peculiar thing,” he said, deliberately 
modulating his voice so that it could be heard by 
those about us, “was that, just before he was killed, 
some one sent a prayer-bean from a necklace to him.” 

93 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


At the mention of the necklace I saw that Mrs. 
Rogers was all attention. Involuntarily she shot a 
glance at Mrs. Anthony, as if she noted that she was 
not wearing the necklace now. 

“Is that Englishwoman a member of the cult?” 
queried Kennedy, a moment later, as, quite naturally, 
he looked over at Mrs. Anthony. “Who is she?” 

“Oh,” replied Mrs. Rogers, quickly, “she isn’t an 
Englishwoman at all. She is a Hindu — I believe, a 
former nautch-girl, daughter of a nautch-girl. She 
passes by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but really her 
name is Kalia Dass. Every one in Calcutta knew’ her. ’ ’ 

Kennedy quietly drew his card- case 1 * from his 
pocket and handed a card to Mrs. Rogers. 

“I should like to talk to you about her some time,” 
he said, in a careful whisper. ‘ ‘ If anything happens 
— don’t hesitate to call on me.” 

Before Mrs. Rogers could recover from her sur- 
prise Kennedy had said good-by and we were on 
our way to the laboratory. 

“That’s a curious situation,” I observed. “Can 
you make it out? How does Shirley fit into this 
thing?” 

Craig hesitated a moment, as though debating 
whether to say anything, even to me, about his 
suspicions. 

“Suppose,” he said, slowly, “that Shirley was a 
secret agent of the British government, charged with 
the mission of finding out whether Mrs. Rogers was 
contributing — unknowingly, perhaps — to hatching 
another Indian mutiny? Would that suggest any- 
thing to you?” 

“And the nautch-girl whom he had known in 
04 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 

Calcutta followed him, hoping to worm from him 
the secrets which he — ” 

“Not too fast,” he cautioned. “Let us merely 
suppose that Shirley was a spy. If I am not mis- 
taken, we shall see c omething happen soon, as a 
result of what I said to Mrs. Rogers.” 

Excited now by the possibilities opened up by his 
conjecture regarding Shirley, which I knew must 
have amounted to a certainty in his mind, I watched 
him impatiently, as he calmly set to work cleaning 
up the remainder of the laboratory investigation in 
the affair. 

It was scarcely half an hour later that a car drove 
up furiously to our door and Mrs. Rogers burst in, 
terribly agitated. 

“You remember, ” she cried, breathlessly, “you said 
that a jequirity bean was sent to Captain Shirley?” 

“Yes,” encouraged Kennedy. 

“Well, after you left, I was thinking about it. 
That Kalia Dass used to wear a necklace of them, 
but she didn’t have it on to-day. I began thinking 
about it. While she was talking to the swami I 
went over. I’ve noticed how careful she always is 
of her hand-bag. So I managed to catch my hand 
in the loop about her wrist. It dropped on the floor. 
We both made a dive for it, but I got it. I managed, 
also, to open the catch and, when I picked it up to 
hand to her, with an apology, what should roll out 
but a score of prayer-beans! Some papers dropped 
out, too. She almost tore them from my hands; 
in fact, one of them did tear. After it was over I 
had this scrap, a corner torn off one of them.” 

Kennedy took the scrap which she handed to him 
95 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


and studied it carefully, while we looked over his 
shoulder. On it was a queer alphabetical table. 
Across the first line were the letters singly, each 
followed by a dash. Then, in squares underneath, 
were pairs of letters — AA, BA, CA, DA, and so on, 
while, vertically, the column on the left read: AA, 
AB, AC, AD, and so on. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Rogers,” Craig said, rising. 
“This is very important.” 

She seemed reluctant to go, but, as there was no 
excuse for staying longer, she finally left. Kennedy 
immediately set to work studying the scrap of paper 
and the cipher message he had copied, while I stifled 
my impatience as best I could. 

I could do nothing but reflect on the possibility of 
what a jealous woman might do. Mrs. Rogers had 
given us one example. Did the same explanation 
shed any light on the mystery of the nautch-girl and 
the jequirity bean sent to Shirley? There was no 
doubt now that Shirley had known her in Calcutta — • 
intimately, also. Perhaps the necklace had some 
significance. At least, he must have remembered it, 
as his agitation over the single bean and the word 
“Gadhr” seemed to indicate. If she had sent it to 
him, was it as a threat? To all appearance, he had 
not known that she was in New York, much less that 
she was at the same hotel and on the same floor. 
Why had she followed him ? Had she misinterpreted 
his attentions to Mrs. Rogers? 

Longing to ask Kennedy the myriad questions 
that flashed through my mind, I turned to him as 
he scowled at the scrap of paper and the cipher 
before him. 


96 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


Presently he glanced up at me, still scowling. 

“It’s no use, Walter,” he said; “I can’t make it 
out without the key — at least, it will take so long to 
discover the key that it may be useless.” 

Just then the telephone-bell rang and he sprang 
to it eagerly. As I listened I gathered that it was 
another hurried call from Grady. 

“Something has happened to Mrs. Anthony!” 
cried Craig, as he hooked up the receiver and seized 
his hat. 

A second time we posted to the Prince Edward 
Charles, spurred by the mystery that surrounded the 
case. No one met us in the lobby this time, and we 
rode up directly in the elevator to Mrs. Anthony’s 
room. 

As we came down the hall and Grady met us at 
the door, he did not need to tell us that something 
was wrong. One experience like that with Shirley 
had put the hotel people on guard, and the hous^ 
physician was already there, administering stimulants 
to Mrs. Anthony, who was lying on the bed. 

“It’s just like the other case,” whispered Grady. 
“There are the same scratches on her face and 
hands.” 

The doctor glanced about at us. By the look on 
his face, I read that it was a losing fight. Kennedy 
bent down. The floor about the door was covered with 
little glittering slivers of glass. On Mrs. Anthony’s 
face was the same drawn look as on Shirley’s. 

Was it a suicide ? Had we been getting too close on 
her trail, or had Mrs. Anthony been attacked ? Had 
some one been using her, and now was afraid of her 
and sought to get her out of the way for safety? 

07 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


What was the secret locked in her silent lips? 
The woman was plainly dying. Would she carry 
the secret with her, after all ? 

Kennedy quickly drew from his pocket the vial 
which I had seen him place there in the laboratory 
early in the day. From the doctor’s case he selected 
a hypodermic and coolly injected a generous dose of 
the stuff into her arm. 

“What is it?” asked the doctor, as we all watched 
her face anxiously. 

‘ ‘ The antitoxin to abrin, * ’ he replied. ‘ ‘ I developed 
some of it at the same time that I was studying the 
poison. If an animal that is immune to a toxin is 
bled and the serum collected, the antitoxin in it 
may be injected into a healthy animal and render it 
immune. Ricin and abrin are vegetable protein 
toxins of enormous potency and exert a narcotic 
action. Guinea-pigs fed on them in proper doses 
attain such a degree of immunity that, in a short 
time, they can tolerate four hundred times the fatal 
dose. The serum also can be used to neutralize the 
toxin in another animal, to a certain extent.” 

We crowded about Kennedy and the doctor, our 
eyes riveted on the drawn face before us. Would 
the antitoxin work? 

Meanwhile, Kennedy moved over to the writing- 
table which he had examined on our first visit to the 
room. Covered up in the writing-pad was still the 
paper which he had copied. Only, Mrs. Anthony 
had added much more to it. He looked at it des- 
perately. What good would it do if, after hours, his 
cleverness might solve the cipher — too late? 

Mrs. Anthony seemed to be struggling bravely. 

98 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


Once I thought she was almost conscious. Glazed 
though her eyes looked, she saw Kennedy vaguely, 
with the paper in his hand. Her lips moved. Ken- 
nedy bent down, though whether he heard or read 
her lip movements I do not know. 

“Her pocket-book!” he exclaimed. 

We found it crushed under her coat which she had 
taken off when she entered. Craig opened it and 
drew forth a crumpled sheet of paper from which a 
corner had been torn. It exactly fitted the scrap 
that Mrs. Rogers had given us. There, contained 
within twenty- seven horizontal and twenty-seven 
vertical lines, making in all six hundred and seventy- 
six squares, was every possible combination of two 
letters of the alphabet. 

Kennedy looked up, still in desperation. It did him 
no good. He could have completed the table himself. 

“In — the — lining.” Her lips managed to frame 
the words. 

Kennedy literally tore the bag apart. There was 
nothing but a plain white blank card. With a super- 
human effort she moved her lips again. 

“Smelling-salts,” she seemed to say. 

I looked about. On the dressing-table stood a 
little dark-green bottle. I pulled the ground-glass 
stopper from it and a most pungent odor of car- 
bonate of ammonia filled the room. Quickly I held 
it under her nose, but she shook her head weakly. 

Kennedy seemed to understand. He snatched the 
bottle from me and held the card directly over its 
mouth. As the fumes of the ammonia poured out, 
I saw faintly on the card the letters HR. 

We turned to Mrs. Anthony. The effort had used 
99 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


up her strength. She had lapsed again into uncon- 
sciousness as Craig bent over her. 

“Will she live?” I asked. 

“I think so,” he replied, adding a hasty word to 
the doctor. 

What’s that ? Look !” I exclaimed, pointing to the 
card from which the letters HR had already faded as 
mysteriously as they had appeared, leaving the card 
blank again. 

“It is the key!” he cried, excitedly. “Written in 
sympathetic ink. At last we have it all.” 

On the queer alphabetical table which the two pieces 
of paper made, he now wrote quickly the alphabet 
again, horizontally across the top, starting with H, 
and vertically down the side, starting with R, thus: 



ioo 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 


“See!” exclaimed Kennedy, triumphantly, work- 
ing rapidly. “Take the word ‘war’ for instance. 
The square which contains WA is in line S, column 
D. So I put down SD. The odd letter R, with a 
dash, is in line R, column Y. So I put down RY. 
WAR thus becomes SDRY. Working it backward 
from SDRY, I take the two letters SD. In line S, 
column D, I find WA in the square, and in line R, 
column Y, I find just R — making the translation of 
the cipher read ‘War.’ Now,” he went on, excitedly, 
“take the message we have: 

“SOWC FSSJWA EKNLFFBY WOVHLX IHWAJYKH 
101MLEL EPJNVPSL WCLURL GHIHDA ELBA. 

* ‘ I translate each pair of letters as I come to them.” 

He was writing rapidly. There was the message : 

Have located New York headquarters at ioi Eveningside 
Avenue, Apartment K. 

Kennedy did not pause, but dashed from the room, 
followed by Grady and myself. 

As our taxi pulled up on the avenue, we saw that 
the address was a new but small apartment-house. 
We entered and located Apartment K. 

Casting about for a way to get in, Craig discovered 
that the fire-escape could be reached from a balcony 
by the hall window. He swung himself over the gap, 
and we followed. It was the work of only a minute 
to force the window-latch. 'We entered. No one was 
there. 

As we pressed after him, he stopped short and 
flashed his electric bull’s-eye about with an excla- 

8 ioi 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

mation of startled surprise. There was a fully 
equipped chemical and electrical laboratory. There 
were explosives enough to have blown not only us 
but a whole block to kingdom come. More than 
that, it was a veritable den of poisons. On a table 
stood beakers and test-tubes in which was crushed 
a paste that still showed parts of the red ruttee beans. 

“Some one planned here to kill Shirley, get him 
out of the way,” reconstructed Kennedy, gazing 
about; “some one working ' under the cloak of 
Oriental religion.” 

‘ ‘ Mrs. Anthony ?” queried Grady. Kennedy shook 
his head. 

4 ‘ On the contrary, like Shirley, she was an agent of 
the Indian Secret Service. The rest of the cipher 
shows it. She was sent to watch some one else, as he 
was sent to watch Mrs. Rogers. Neither could have 
known that the other was on the case. She found 
out, first, that the package with the prayer-bean 
and the word ‘Gadhr’ was an attempt to warn and 
save Shirley, whom she had known in Calcutta and 
still loved, but feared to compromise. She must 
have tried to see him, but failed. She hesitated to 
write, but finally did. Then some one must have 
seen that she was dangerous. Another poisoned 
bomb was sent to her. No; the nautch-girl is 
innocent.” 

“’Sh!” cautioned Grady. 

Outside we could hear the footsteps of some one 
coming along the hall. Kennedy snapped off his 
light. The door opened. 

“Stand still! One motion and I will throw it!” 

As Kennedy’s voice rang out from the direction 
102 


THE MYSTIC POISONER 

of the table on which stood the half-finished glass 
bombs, Grady and I flung ourselves forward at the 
intruder, not knowing what we would encounter. 

A moment later Kennedy had found the electric 
switch and flashed up the lights. 

It was Singh, who had used both Mrs. Rogers's 
money and Raimanandra’s religion to cover his 
conspiracy of revoit. 


V 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


UY FAWKES himself would shudder in that 



VJ mill. Think of it — five explosions on five suc- 
cessive days, and not a clue!” 

Our visitor had presented a card bearing the name 
of Donald MacLeod, chief of the Nitropolis Powder 
Company’s Secret Service. It was plain that he was 
greatly worried over the case about which he had at 
last been forced to consult Kennedy. 

As he spoke, I remembered having read in the 
despatches about the explosions, but the accounts 
had been so meager that I had not realized that there 
was anything especially unusual about them, for it 
was at the time when accidents in and attacks on 
the munitions-plants were of common occurrence. 

“Why,” went on MacLeod, “the whole business is 
as mysterious as if there were some phantom de- 
stroyer at work ! The men are so frightened that they 
threaten to quit. Several have been killed. There’s 
something strange about that, too. There are ugly 
rumors of poisonous gases being responsible, quite 
as much as the explosions, though, so far, I’ve been 
able to find nothing in that notion.” 

“What sort of place is it?” asked Kennedy, in- 
terested at once. 


104 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


“Well, you see,” explained MacLeod, “since the 
company’s business has increased so fast lately, it 
has been forced to erect a new plant. Perhaps you 
have heard of the Old Grove Amusement Park, 
which failed? It’s not far from that.” 

MacLeod looked at us inquiringly, and Kennedy 
nodded to go on, though I am sure neither of us was 
familiar with the place. 

“They’ve called the new plant Nitropolis — rather 
a neat name for a powder- works, don’t you think?” 
resumed MacLeod. “Everything went along all 
right until a few days ago. Then one of the build- 
ings, a storehouse, was blown up. We couldn’t be 
sure that it was an accident, so we redoubled our 
precautions. It was of no use. That started it. 
The very next day another building was blown up, 
then another, until now there have been five of 
them. What may happen to-day Heaven only 
knows! I want to get back as soon as I can.” 

“Rather too frequent, I must admit, to be coin- 
cidences,” remarked Kennedy. 

“No; they can’t all be accidents,” asserted Mac- 
Leod, confidently. “There’s too great regularity for 
that. I think I’ve considered almost everything. 
I don’t see how they can be from bombs placed by 
workmen. At least, it’s not a bit likely. Besides, 
the explosions all occur in broad daylight, not at 
night. We’re very careful about the men we employ, 
and they’re watched all the time. The company has a 
guard of its own, twenty-five picked men, under me — 
all honorably discharged United States army men.” 

“You have formed no theory of your own?” 
queried Kennedy. 

105 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


MacLeod paused, then drew from his pocket the 
clipping of a despatch from the front in which one of 
the war correspondents reported the destruction of 
wire entanglements with heat supposed to have 
been applied by the use of reflecting mirrors. 

‘‘I’m reduced to pure speculation/ ’ he remarked. 
'‘To-day they seem to be reviving all the ancient 
practices. Maybe some one is going at it like Ar- 
chimedes.” 

“Not impossible,” returned Craig, handing back 
the clipping. “Buff on tested the probability of the 
achievement of Archimedes in setting fire to the 
ships of Marcellus with mirrors and the sun’s rays. 
He constructed a composite mirror of a hundred 
and twenty-eight plane mirrors, and with it he was 
able to ignite wood at two hundred and ten feet. 
However, I shrewdly suspect that, even if this story 
is true, they are using hydrogen or acetylene flares 
over there. But none of these things would be 
feasible in your case. You’d know it.” 

“Could it be some one who is projecting a deadly 
wireless force which causes the explosions?” I put 
in, mindful of a previous case of Kennedy’s. “We 
all know that inventors have been working for years 
on the idea of making explosives obsolete and guns 
junk. If some one has hit on a way of guiding an 
electric wave through the air and concentrating 
power at a point, munitions-plants could be wiped 
out.” 

MacLeod looked anxiously from me to Kennedy, 
but Craig betrayed nothing by his face except Ids 
interest. 

“Sometimes I have imagined I heard a peculiar, 
106 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


faint, whirring noise in the air,” he remarked, 
thoughtfully. ‘‘I thought of having the men on 
the watch for air-ships, but they’ve never seen a 
trace of one. It might be some power either like 
this,” he added, shaking the clipping, “or like that 
which Mr. Jameson suggests.” 

“It’s something like that you meant, I presume, 
when you called it a ‘phantom destroyer’ a moment 
ago?” asked Kennedy. 

MacLeod nodded. 

“If you’re interested,” he pursued, hastily, “and 
feel like going down there to look things over, I 
think the best place for you to go would be to the 
Sneddens’. They’re some people who have seen a 
chance to make a little money out of the boom. 
Many visitors are now coming and going on busi- 
ness connected with the new works. They have 
started a boarding-house — or, rather, Mrs. Snedden 
has. There’s a daughter, too, who seems to be very 
popular.” Kennedy glanced whimsically at me. 

“Well, Walter,” he remarked, tentatively, “en- 
tirely aside from the young lady, this ought to make 
a good story for the Star” 

“Indeed it ought!” I replied, enthusiastically. 

“Then you’ll go down to Nitropolis?” queried 
MacLeod, eagerly. “You can catch a train that 
will get you there about noon. And the company 
will pay you well.” 

“MacLeod, with the mystery, Miss Snedden, and 
the remuneration, you are irresistible,” smiled 
Kennedy. 

“Thank you,” returned the detective. “You 
won’t regret it. I can’t tell you how much relieved 
107 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


I feel to have some one else, and, above all, yourself, 
on the case. You can get a train in half an hour. 
I think it would be best for you to go as though you 
had no connection with me — at least for the present.” 

Kennedy agreed, and MacLeod excused himself, 
promising to be on the train, although not to ride 
with us, in case we should be the target of too 
inquisitive eyes. 

For a few moments, while our taxicab was coming, 
Kennedy considered thoughtfully what the company 
detective had said. By the time the vehicle arrived 
he had hurriedly packed up some apparatus in two 
large grips, one of which it fell to my lot to carry. 

The trip down to Nitropolis was uninteresting, and 
we arrived at the little station shortly after noon. 
MacLeod was on the train, but did not speak to us, 
and it was perhaps just as well, for the cabmen and 
others hanging about the station were keenly watch- 
ing new arrivals, and any one with MacLeod must 
have attracted attention. We selected or were, 
rather, selected by one of the cabmen and driven 
immediately to the Snedden house. Our cover was, 
as Craig and I had decided, to pose as two news- 
paper men from New York, that being the easiest 
way to account for any undue interest we might 
show in things. 

The powder-company’s plant was situated on a 
large tract of land which was surrounded by a 
barbed-wire fence, six feet high and constructed in 
a manner very similar to the fences used in protect- 
ing prison-camps in war-times. At various places 
along the several miles of fence gates were placed, 
with armed guards. Many other features were sug- 
108 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


gestive of war-times. One that impressed us most 
was that each workman had to carry a pass similar, 
almost, to a passport. This entire fence, we learned, 
was patrolled day and night by armed guards. 

A mile or so from the plant, or just outside the 
main gate, quite a settlement had grown up, like a 
mushroom, almost overnight — the product of a 
flood of new money. Originally, there had been only 
one house for some distance about — that of the 
Sneddens. But now there were scores of houses, 
mostly those of officials and managers, some of them 
really pretentious affairs. MacLeod himself lived 
in one of them, and we could see him ahead of us, 
being driven home. 

The workmen lived farther along the line, in a 
sort of company town, which at present greatly 
resembled a Western mining-camp, though ulti- 
mately it was to be a bungalow town. 

Just at present, however, it was the Snedden 
house that interested us most, for we felt the need 
of getting ourselves established in this strange com- 
munity. It was an old-fashioned farm-house and 
had been purchased very cheaply by Snedden several 
years before. Pie had altered it and brought it up 
to date, and the combination of old and new proved 
to be typical of the owner as well as of the house. 

Kennedy carried off well the critical situation of 
our introduction, and we found ourselves welcomed 
rather than scrutinized as intruders. 

Garfield Snedden was much older than his second 
wife, Ida. In fact, she did not seem to be much older 
than Snedden’s daughter Gertrude, whom /MacLeod 
had already mentioned — a dashing young lady, never 
109 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


intended by nature to vegetate in the rural seclusion 
that her father had sought before the advent of the 
powder-works. Mrs. Snedden was one of those 
capable women who can manage a man without his 
knowing it. Indeed, one felt that Snedden, who was 
somewhat of both student and dreamer, needed a 
manager. 

“ I’m glad your train was on time,” bustled Mrs. 
Snedden. ‘ ‘ Luncheon will be ready in a few moments 
now.” 

We had barely time to look about before Gertrude 
led us into the dining-room and introduced us to 
the other boarders. 

Knowing human nature, Kennedy was careful to 
be struck with admiration and amazement at every- 
thing we had seen in our brief whirl through Nitrop- 
olis. It was not a difficult or entirely assumed feel- 
ing, either, when one realized that, only a few short 
months before, the region had been nothing better 
than an almost hopeless wilderness of scrub-pines. 

We did not have to wait long before the subject 
uppermost in our minds was brought up — the ex- 
plosions. 

Among the boarders there were at least two who, 
from the start, promised to be interesting as well as 
important. One was a tall, slender chap named 
Garret son, whose connection with the company, I 
gathered from the conversation, took him often on 
important matters to New York. The other was 
an older man, Jackson, who seemed to be connected 
with the management of the works, a reticent fellow, 
more given to listening to others than to talking 
himself. 


no 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


“Nothing has happened so far to-day, anyhow,” 
remarked Garret son, tapping the back of his chair 
with his knuckle, as a token of respect for that 
evil spirit who seems to be exorcised by knocking 
wood. 

“Oh,” exclaimed Gertrude, with a little half-sup- 
pressed shudder, “ I do hope those terrible explosions 
are at last over!” 

“If I had my way,” asserted Garretson, savagely, 
“I’d put this town under martial law until they were 
over.” 

“It may come to that,” put in Jackson, quietly. 

“Quite in keeping with the present tendency of 
the age,” agreed Snedden, in a tone of philosophical 
disagreement. 

“I don’t think it makes much difference how you 
accomplish the result, Garfield,” chimed in his wife, 
“as long as you accomplish it, and it is one that 
should be accomplished.” 

Snedden retreated into the refuge of silence. 
Though this was only a bit of the conversation, we 
soon found out that he was an avowed pacifist. 
Garretson, on the other hand, was an ardent mili- 
tarist, a good deal of a fire-eater. I wondered whether 
there might not be a good deal of the poseur about 
him, too. 

It needed no second sight to discover that both he 
and Gertrude were deeply interested in each other: 
Garretson was what Broadway would call “a live 
one,” and, though there is nothing essentially wrong 
in that, I fancied that I detected, now and then, an 
almost maternal solicitude on the part of her step- 
mother, who seemed to be watching both the young 
hi 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

man and her husband alternately. Once Jackson 
and Mrs. Snedden exchanged glances. There seemed 
to be some understanding between them. 

The time to return to the works was approaching, 
and we all rose. Somehow, Gertrude and Garretson 
seemed naturally to gravitate toward the door to- 
gether. 4 

Some distance from the house there was a large 
bam. Part of it had been turned into a garage, 
where Garretson kept a fast car. Jackson, also, had 
a roadster. In fact, in this new community, with 
its superabundant new wealth, everybody had a car. 

Kennedy and I sauntered out after the rest. As 
we turned an angle of the house we came suddenly 
upon Garretson in his racer, talking to Gertrude. 
The crunch of the gravel under our feet warned 
them before we saw them, but not before we could 
catch a glimpse of a warning finger on the rosy 
lips of Gertrude. As she saw us she blushed ever 
so slightly. 

“You’ll be late!” she cried, hastily. “Mr. Jackson 
has been gone five minutes.” 

“On foot,” returned Garretson, nonchalantly. 
“I’ll overtake him in thirty seconds.” Nevertheless, 
he did not wait longer, but swung up the road at a 
pace which was the admiration of all speed-loving 
Nitropolitans. 

Craig had ordered our taxicab driver to stop for 
us after lunch, and, without exciting suspicion, 
managed to stow away the larger part of the contents 
of our grips in his car. 

Still without openly showing our connection with 
MacLeod, Kennedy sought out the manager of the 
1 12 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


works, and, though scores of correspondents and 
reporters from various newspapers had vainly ap- 
plied for permission to inspect the plant, somehow 
we seemed to receive the freedom of the place and 
without exciting suspicion. 

Craig’s first move was to look the plant over. As 
we approached it our attention was instantly at- 
tracted to the numerous one-story galvanized-iron 
buildings that appeared to stretch endlessly in every 
direction. They seemed to be of a temporary nature, 
though the power-plants, offices, and other neces- 
sary buildings were very substantially built. The 
framework of the factory-buildings was nothing but 
wood, covered by iron sheathing, and even the sides 
seemed to be removable. The floors, however, were 
of concrete. 

“They serve their purpose well,” observed Ken- 
nedy, as we picked our way about. “Explosions at 
powder-mills are frequent, anyhow. After an ex- 
plosion there is very little debris to clear away, as 
you may imagine. These buildings are easily re- 
paired or replaced, and they keep a large force of 
men for these purposes, as well as materials for any 
emergency.” 

One felt instinctively the hazard of the employ- 
ment. Everywhere were signs telling what not and 
what to do. One that stuck in my mind was, “It 
is better to be careful than sorry.” Throughout the 
plant at frequent intervals were first-aid stations 
with kits for all sorts of accidents, including respi- 
rators, for workmen were often overcome by ether 
or alcohol fumes. Everything was done to minimize 
the hazard, yet one could not escape the conviction 
113 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


that human life and limb were as much a cost of 
production in this industry as fuel and raw material. 

Once, in our wanderings about the plant, I recall 
we ran across both Garretson and Jackson in one of 
the offices. They did not see us, but seemed to be 
talking very earnestly about something. What it 
was we could not guess, but this time it seemed to 
be Jackson who was doing most of the talking. 
Kennedy watched them as they parted. 

“There’s something peculiar under the surface 
with those people at the boarding-house,” was all 
he obvserved. “Come; over there, about an eighth 
of a mile, I think I see evidences of the latest of the 
explosions. Let’s look at it.” 

MacLeod had evidently reasoned that, sooner or 
later, Kennedy would appear in this part of the 
grounds, and as we passed one of the shops he 
joined us. 

“You mentioned something about rumors of 
poisonous gases,” hinted Craig, as we walked along. 

“Yes,” assented MacLeod; “I don’t know what 
there is in it. I suppose you know that there is a 
very poisonous gas, carbon monoxide, or carbonic 
oxide, formed in considerable quantity by the ex- 
plosion of several of the powders commonly used in 
shells. The gas has the curious power of combining 
with the blood and refusing to let go, thus keeping 
out the oxygen necessary for life. It may be that 
that is what accounts for what we’ve seen — that it is 
actual poisoning to death of men not killed by the 
immediate explosion.” 

We had reached the scene of the previous day’s 
disaster. No effort had yet been made to clear it 
114 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 

up. Kennedy went over it carefully. What it was 
he found I do not know, but he had not spent much 
time before he turned to me. 

“Walter,” he directed, “I wish you would go back 
to the office near the gate, where I left that para- 
phernalia we brought down. Carry it over — let me 
see — there’s an open space there on that knoll. I’ll 
join you there.” 

Whatever was in the packages was both bulky 
and heavy, and I was glad to reach the hillside he 
had indicated. 

Craig was waiting for me there with MacLeod, 
and at once opened the packages. From them he 
took a thin steel rod, which he set up in the center 
of the open space. To it he attached a frame and to 
the frame what looked like four reversed mega- 
phones. Attached to the frame, which was tubular, 
was an oak box with a little arrangement of hard 
rubber and metal which fitted into the ears. For 
some time Kennedy’s face wore a set, far-away 
expression, as if he were studying something. 

‘ ‘ The explosions seem always to occur in the mid- 
dle of the afternoon,” observed MacLeod, fidgeting 
apprehensively. 

Kennedy motioned petulantly for silence. Then 
suddenly he pulled the tubes out of his ears and 
gazed about sharply. 

“There’s something in the air!” he cried. “I can 
hear it!” 

MacLeod and I strained our eyes. There was 
nothing visible. 

“This is an anti-aircraft listening-post, such as the 
French use,” explained Craig, hurriedly. “Between 
US 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the horns and the microphone in the box you can 
catch the hum of an engine, even when it is muffled. 
If there’s an aeroplane or a Zeppelin about, this 
thing would locate it.” 

Still, there was nothing that we could see, though 
now the sound was just perceptible to the ear if one 
strained his attention a bit. I listened. It was plain 
in the detector; yet nothing was visible. What 
strange power could it be that we could not see or 
feel in broad daylight? 

Just then came a low rumbling, and then a terrific 
roar from the direction of the plant. We swung 
about in time to see a huge cloud of debris lifted 
literally into the air above the tree-tops and dropped 
to earth again. The silence that succeeded the ex- 
plosion was eloquent. The phantom destroyer had 
delivered his blow again. 

“The distillery — where we make the denatured 
alcohol!” cried MacLeod, gazing with tense face as 
from other buildings, we could see men pouring 
forth, panic-stricken, and the silence was punctured 
by shouts. .Kennedy bent over his detector. 

“That same mysterious buzzing,” he muttered, 
“only fainter.” 

Together we hastened now toward the distillery, 
another of those corrugated-iron buildings. It had 
been completely demolished. Here and there lay a 
dark, still mass. I shuddered. They were men! 

As we ran toward the ruin we crossed a baseball- 
field which the company had given the men. I looked 
back for Kennedy. He had paused at the wire back- 
stop behind the catcher. Something caught in the 
wires interested him. By the time I reached him 
116 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


he had secured it — a long, slender metal tube, clev- 
erly weighted so as to fall straight. 

“Not a hundred per cent, of hits, evidently,” he 
muttered. “Still, one was enough.” 

“What is it?” asked MacLeod. 

“An incendiary pastille. On contact, the nose 
burns away anything it hits, goes right through cor- 
rugated iron. It carries a charge of thermit ignited 
by this piece of magnesium ribbon. You know what 
thermit will penetrate with its thousands of degrees 
of heat. Only the nose of this went through the 
netting and never touched a thing. This didn’t 
explode anything, but another one did. Thousands 
of gallons of alcohol did the rest.” 

Kennedy had picked up his other package as we 
ran, and was now busily unwrapping it. I looked 
about at the crowd that had collected, and saw that 
there was nothing we could do to help. Once I 
caught sight of Gertrude’s face. She was pale, and 
seemed eagerly searching for some one. Then, in 
the crowd, I lost her. I turned to MacLeod. He 
was plainly overwhelmed. Kennedy was grimly 
silent and at work on something he had jammed into 
the ground. 

“Stand back !” he cautioned, as he touched a match 
to the thing. With a muffled explosion, something 
whizzed and shrieked up into the air like a sky- 
rocket. 

Far above, I could now see a thing open out like 
a parachute, while below it trailed something that 
might have been the stick of the rocket. Eagerly 
Kennedy followed the parachute as the wind wafted 
it along and it sank slowly to the earth. When, at 
9 117 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


last, he recovered it I saw that between the parachute 
and the stick was fastened a small, peculiar camera. 

'‘A Scheimpflug multiple camera,” he explained 
as he seized it almost ravenously. ‘ ‘ Is there a place 
in town where I can get the films in this developed 
quickly?” 

MacLeod, himself excited now, hurried us from 
the scene of the explosion to a local drug-store, which 
combined most of the functions of a general store, 
even being able to improvise a dark-room in which 
Kennedy could work. 

It was some time after the excitement over the 
explosion had quieted down that MacLeod and I, 
standing impatiently before the drug-store, saw 
Snedden wildly tearing down the street in his car. 
He saw us and pulled up at the curb with a jerk. 

“Where’s Gertrude?” he shouted, wildly. “Has 
any one seen my daughter?” 

Breathlessly he explained that he had been out, 
had returned to find his house deserted, Gertrude 
gone, his wife gone, even Jackson’s car gone from 
the barn. He had been to the works. Neither 
Garretson nor Jackson had been seen since the ex- 
citement of the explosion, they told him. Garretson’s 
racer was gone, too. There seemed to have been a 
sort of family explosion, also. 

Kennedy had heard the loud talking and had left 
his work to the druggist to carry on and joined us. 
There was no concealment now of our connection 
with MacLeod, for it was to him that every one in 
town came when in trouble. 

In almost no time, so accurately did he keep his 
fingers on the fevered pulse of Nitropolis, MacLeod 
*18 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


had found out that Gertrude had been seen driving 
away from the company’s grounds with some one in 
Garretson ’s car, probably Garretson himself. Jack- 
son had been seen hurrying down the street. Some 
one else had seen Ida Snedden in Jackson’s car, 
alone. 

Meanwhile, over the wire, MacLeod had sent out 
descriptions of the four people and the two cars, in 
the hope of intercepting them before they could be 
plunged into the obscurity of any near-by city. 
Not content with that, MacLeod and Kennedy 
started out in the former’s car, while I climbed in 
with Snedden, and we began a systematic search 
of the roads out of Nitropolis. 

As we sped along, I could not help feeling, though 
I said nothing, that, somehow, the strange dis- 
appearances must have something to do with the 
mysterious phantom destroyer. I did not tell even 
Snedden about the little that Kennedy had dis- 
covered, for I had learned that it was best to let 
Craig himself tell, at his own time and in his own way. 
But the man seemed frantic in his search, and I 
could not help the impression that there was some- 
thing, perhaps only a suspicion, that he knew which 
might shed some light. 

We were coming down the river, or, rather, the 
bay, after a fruitless search of unfrequented roads 
and were approaching the deserted Old Grove 
Amusement Park, to which excursions used, years 
ago, to come in boats. No one could make it pay, 
and it was closed and going to ruin. There had been 
some hint that Garretson ’s racer might have dis- 
appeared down this unfrequented river road. 

119 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


As we came to a turn in the road, we could see 
Kennedy and MacLeod in their car, coming up. 
Instead of keeping on, however, they turned into 
the grove, Kennedy leaning far over the running- 
board as MacLeod drove slowly, following his 
directions, as though Craig were tracing something. 

With a hurried exclamation of surprise, Snedden 
gave our car the gas and shot ahead, swinging around 
after them. They were headed, following some kind 
of tire-tracks, toward an old merry-go-round that 
was dismantled and all boarded up. They heard 
us coming and stopped. 

“Has^any one told you that Garretson’s car went 
down the river road, too?” called Snedden, anxiously. 

“No; but some one thought he saw Jackson’s 
car come down here,” called back MacLeod. 

“Jackson’s?” exclaimed Snedden. 

“Maybe both are right,” I ventured, as we came 
closer. “What made you turn in here?” 

‘ ‘ Kennedy thought he saw fresh tire-tracks 
running into the grove.” 

We were all out of our cars by this time, and 
examining the soft roadway with Craig. It was evi- 
dent to any one that a car had been run in, and not 
so very long ago, in the direction of the merry-go- 
round. 

We followed the tracks on foot, bending about the 
huge circle of a building until we came to the side 
away from the road. The tracks seemed to rim 
right in under the boards. 

Kennedy approached and touched the boards. 
They were loose. Some one had evidently been 
there, had taken them down, and put them up. 

120 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


In fact, by the marks on them, it seemed as though 
he had made a practice of doing so. 

MacLeod and Kennedy unhooked the boarding, 
while Snedden looked on in a sort of daze. They 
had taken down only two or three sections, which 
indicated that that whole side might similarly be 
removed, when I heard a low, startled exclamation 
from Snedden. 

We peered in. There, in the half-light of the 
gloomy interior, we could see a car. Before we knew 
it Snedden had darted past us. An instant later I 
distinguished what his more sensitive eye had seen — • 
a woman, all alone in the car, motionless. 

‘‘Ida!” he cried. 

There was no answer. 

“She — she’s dead!” he shouted. 

It was only too true. There was Ida Snedden, 
seated in Jackson’s car in the old deserted building, 
all shut up — dead. 

Yet her face was as pink as if she were alive and 
the blood had been whipped into her cheeks by a 
walk in the cold wind. 

We looked at one another, at a loss. How did she 
get there — and why? She must have come there 
voluntarily. No one had seen any one else with her 
in the car. 

Snedden was now almost beside himself. 

“Misfortunes never come singly,” he wailed. 
“My daughter Gertrude gone — now my wife dead. 
Confound that young fellow Garret son — and Jack- 
son, too! Where are they? Why have they fled? 
The scoundrels — they have stolen my whole family. 
Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?” 

12 I 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Trying to quiet Snedden, at the same time we 
began to look about the building. On one side was 
a small stove, in which were still the dying coals of a 
fire. Near by were a 'work-bench, some tools, pieces 
of wire, and other material. Scattered about were 
pieces of material that looked like celluloid. Some 
one evidently used the place as a secret workshop. 
Kennedy picked up a piece of the celluloid-like stuff 
and carefully touched a match to it. It did not bum 
rapidly as celluloid does, and Craig seemed more 
than ever interested. MacLeod himself was no mean 
detective. Accustomed to action, he had an idea 
of what to do. 

“Wait here!” he called back, dashing out. “I’m 
going to the nearest house up the road for help. I’ll 
be back in a moment.” 

We heard him back and turn his car and shoot 
away. Meanwhile, Kennedy was looking over care- 
fully Jackson’s roadster. He tapped the gas-tank in 
the rear, then opened it. There was not a drop of 
gas in it. He lifted up the hood and looked inside 
at the motor. Whatever he saw there, he said noth- 
ing. Finally, by siphoning some gas from Snedden’s 
tank and making some adjustments, he seemed to 
have the car in a condition again for it to run. He 
was just about to start it when MacLeod returned, 
carrying a canary-bird in a cage. 

“I’ve telephoned to town,” he announced. “Some 
one will be here soon now. Meanwhile, an idea 
occurred to me, and I borrowed this bird. Let me 
see whether the idea is any good.” 

Kennedy, by this time, had started the engine. 
MacLeod placed the bright little songster near the 
122 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


stove on the work-bench and began to watch it 
narrowly. 

More than ever up in the air over the mystery, I 
could only watch Kennedy and MacLeod, each 
following his own lines. 

It might, perhaps, have been ten minutes after 
MacLeod returned, and during that time he had 
never taken his eyes off the bird, when I began to 
feel a little drowsy. A word from MacLeod roused 
me. 

“There’s carbon monoxide in the air, Kennedy!” 
he exclaimed. “You know how this gas affects 
birds.” 

Kennedy looked over intently. The canary had 
begun to show evident signs of distress over some- 
thing. 

“It must be that this stove is defective,” pursued 
MacLeod, picking up the poor little bird and carry- 
ing it quickly into the fresh air, where it could regain 
its former liveliness. Then, when he returned, he 
added, “There must be some defect in the stove or 
the draught that makes it send out the poisonous 
gas.” 

“There’s some gas,” agreed Kennedy. “It must 
have cleared away mostly, though, or we couldn’t 
stand it ourselves.” 

Craig continued to look about the car and the 
building, in the vain hope of discovering some other 
clue. Had Mrs. Snedden been killed by the carbonic 
oxide? Was it a case of gas poisoning? Then, too, 
why had she been here at all? Who had shut her 
up? Had she been overcome first and, in a stupor, 
been unable to move to save herself? Above all, 
123 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


what had this to do with the mysterious phantom 
slayer that had wrecked so much of the works in less 
than a week? 

It was quite late in the afternoon when, at last, 
people came from the town and took away both the 
body of Mrs. Snedden and Jackson’s car. Snedden 
could only stare and work his fingers, and after we 
had seen him safely in the care of some one we could 
trust Kennedy, MacLeod, and I climbed into Mac- 
Leod’s car silently. 

“It’s too deep for me,” acknowledged MacLeod. 
“What shall we do next?” 

“Surely that fellow must have my pictures de- 
veloped by this time,” considered Kennedy. “Shoot 
back, there.” 

“They came out beautifully — all except one,” re- 
ported the druggist, who was somewhat of a camera 
fiend himself. “That’s a wonderful system, sir.” 

Kennedy thanked him for his trouble and took 
the prints. With care he pieced them together, until 
he had several successive panoramas of the country 
taken from various elevations of the parachute. 
Then, with a magnifying-glass, he went over each 
section minutely. 

“Look at that!” he pointed out at last with the 
1 sharp tip of a pencil on one picture. 

In what looked like an open space among some 
trees was a tiny figure of a man. It seemed as if he 
were hacking at something with an ax. What the 
something was did not appear in the picture. 

“I should say that it was half a mile, perhaps a 
mile, farther away than that grove,” commented 
Kennedy, making a rough calculation. 

124 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


“On the old Davis farm,” considered MacLeod. 
“Look and see if you can’t make out the ruins of a 
house somewhere near-by. It was burned many 
years ago.” 

“Yes, yes,” returned Kennedy, excitedly; “there’s 
the place! Do you think we can get there in a car 
before it’s dark?” 

“Easily,” replied MacLeod. 

It was only a matter of minutes before we three 
were poking about in a tangle of wood and field, 
seeking to locate the spot where Kennedy’s ap- 
paratus had photographed the lone axman. 

At last, in a large, cleared field, we came upon a 
most peculiar heap of debris. As nearly as I could 
make out, it was a pile of junk, but most interesting 
junk. Practically all of it consisted in broken bits 
of the celluloid-like stuff we had seen in the aban- 
doned building. Twisted inextricably about w~ere 
steel wires and bits of all sorts of material. In the 
midst of the wreckage was something that looked 
for all the world like the remains of a gas-motor. 
It was not rusted, either, which indicated that it had 
been put there recently. 

As he looked at it, Craig’s face displayed a smile 
of satisfaction. 

‘ ‘ Looks as though it might have been an aeroplane 
of the tractor type,” he vouchsafed, finally. 

“Surely there couldn’t have been an accident,” 
objected MacLeod. “No aviator could have lived 
through it, and there’s no body.” 

“No; it was purposely destroyed,” continued 
Craig. “It was landed here from somewhere else 
for that purpose. That was what the man in the 
125 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


picture was doing with the ax. After the last 
explosion something happened. He brought the 
machine here to destroy the evidence.” 

“But,” persisted MacLeod, “if there had been an 
aeroplane hovering about we should have seen it in 
the air, passing over the works at the time of the 
explosion.” 

Kennedy picked the pieces, significantly. 

“Some one about here has kept abreast of the 
times, if not ahead. See; the planes were of this 
non-inflammable celluloid that made it virtually 
transparent and visible only at a few hundred feet 
in the air. The aviator could fly low and so drop 
those pastilles accurately — and unseen. The engine 
had one of those new muffler-boxes. He would have 
been unheard, too, except for that delicate air-ship 
detector.” 

MacLeod and I could but stare at each other, 
aghast. Without a doubt it was in the old merry- 
go-round building that the phantom aviator had 
established his hangar. What the connection was 
between the tragedy in the Snedden family and the 
tragedy in the powder-works we did not know, but, 
at least, now we knew that there was some connection. 

It was growing dark rapidly, and, with some 
difficulty, we retraced our steps to the point where 
we had left the car. We whirled back to the town, 
and, of course, to the Snedden house. 

Snedden was sitting in the parlor when we ar- 
rived, by the body of his wife, staring, speechless, 
straight before him, while several neighbors were 
gathered about, trying to console him. We had 
scarcely entered when a messenger-boy came up 
126 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


the path from the gate. Both Kennedy and Mac- 
Leod turned toward him, expecting some reply to 
the numerous messages of alarm sent out earlier in 
the afternoon. 

“Telegram for Mrs. Snedden,” announced the 
boy. 

“Mrs. Snedden?” queried Kennedy, surprised, 
then quickly: “Oh yes, that’s all right. I’ll take 
care of it.” 

He signed for the message, tore it open, and read 
it. For a moment his face, which had been clouded, 
smoothed out, and he took a couple of turns up and 
down the hall, as though undecided. Finally he 
crumpled the telegram abstractedly and shoved it 
into his pocket. We followed him as he went into 
the parlor and stood for several moments, looking 
fixedly on the strangely flushed face of Mrs. Snedden. 

“MacLeod,” he said, finally, turning gravely 
toward us, and, for the present, seeming to ignore 
the presence of the others, “this amazing series of 
crimes has brought home to me forcibly the alarm- 
ing possibilities of applying modem scientific devices 
to criminal uses. New modes and processes seem to 
bring new menaces.” 

“Like carbon-monoxide poisoning?” suggested 
MacLeod. ‘ ‘ Of course it has long been known as a 
harmful gas, but — ” i 

‘ ‘ Let us see, ’ ’ interrupted Kennedy. ‘ ‘ W alter, you 
were there when I examined Jackson’s car. There 
was not a drop of gasolene in the tank, you will 
recall. Even the water in the radiator was low. I 
lifted the hood. Some one must have tampered with 
the carburetor. It was adjusted so that the amount 
127 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


of air in the mixture was reduced. More than that, 
I don’t know whether you noticed it or not, but the 
spark and gas were set so that, when I did put gaso- 
lene in the tank, I had but to turn the engine over 
and it went. In other words, that car had been 
standing there, the engine running, until it simply 
stopped for want of fuel.” He paused while we lis- 
tened intently, then resumed. “The gas-engine and 
gas-motor have brought with them another of those 
unanticipated menaces of which I spoke. Whenever 
the explosion of the combustible mixture is incom- 
plete or of moderated intensity a gas of which little 
is known may be formed in considerable quantities. 

“In this case, as in several others that have come 
to my attention, vapors arising from the combustion 
must have emitted certain noxious products. The 
fumes that caused Ida Snedden’s death were not of 
carbon monoxide from the stove, MacLeod. They 
were splitting-products of gasolene, which are so 
new to science that they have not yet been named. 

“Mrs. Snedden’s death, I may say for the benefit 
of the coroner, was due to the absorption of some of 
these unidentified gaseous poisons. They are as 
deadly as a knife-thrust through the heart, under 
certain conditions. Due to the non-oxidation of 
some of the elements of gasolene, they escape from 
the exhaust of every running gas-engine. In the 
open air, where only a whiff or two would be in- 
haled now and then, they are not dangerous. But 
in a closed room they may kill in an incredibly short 
time. In fact, the condition has given rise to an en- 
tirely new phenomenon which some one has named 
‘petromortis.’ ” 


128 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 

“Petromortis?” repeated Snedden, who, for the 
first time, began to show interest in what was going 
on about him. “Then it was an accident?” 

“I did not say it was an accident,” corrected 
Craig. “There is an old adage that murder will out. 
And this expression of human experience is only 
repeated in what we modern scientific detectives are 
doing. No man bent on the commission of a crime 
can so arrange the circumstances of that crime that 
it will afterward appear, point by point, as an 
accident.” 

Kennedy had us all following him breathlessly 
now. 

“I do not consider it an accident,” he went on, 
rapidly piecing together the facts as we had found 
them. “Ida Snedden was killed because she was 
getting too close to some one’s secret. Even at 
luncheon, I could see that she had discovered 
Gertrude’s attachment for Garret son. How she 
heard that, following the excitement of the explosion 
this afternoon, Gertrude and Garretson had disap- 
peared, I do not pretend to know. But it is evident 
that she did hear, that she went out and took Jack- 
son’s car, probably to pursue them. If we have 
heard that they went by the river road, she might 
have heard it, too. 

“In all probability she came along just in time to 
surprise some one working on the other side of the 
old merry-go-round structure. There can be no 
reason to conceal the fact longer. From that de- 
serted building some one was daily launching a newly 
designed invisible aeroplane. As Mrs. Snedden came 
along, she must have been just in time to see that 
129 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


person at his secret hangar. What happened I do 
not know, except that she must have run the car 
off the river road and into the building. The person 
whom she found must have suddenly conceived a 
method of getting her out of the way and making it 
look like an accident of some kind, perhaps per- 
suaded her to stay in the car with the engine running, 
while he went off and destroyed the aeroplane which 
was damning evidence now.” 

Startling as was the revelation of an actual phan- 
tom destroyer, our minds were more aroused as to 
who might be the criminal who had employed such 
an engine of death. 

Kennedy drew from his pocket the telegram 
which had just arrived, and spread it out flat before 
us on a table. It was dated Philadelphia, and read : 

Mrs. Ida Snedden, Nitropolis: 

Garretson and Gertrude were married to-day. Have traced 
them to the Wolcott. Try to reconcile Mr. Snedden. 

Hunter Jackson. 

I saw at once that part of the story. It was just 
a plain love-affair that had ended in an elopement 
at a convenient time. The fire-eating Garretson 
had been afraid of the Sneddens and Jackson, who 
was their friend. Before I could even think further, 
Kennedy had drawn out the films taken by the 
rocket-camera. 

“With the aid of a magnifying-glass,” he was say- 
ing, “I can get just enough of the lone figure in this 
picture to identify it. These are the crimes of a 
crazed pacifist, one whose mind had so long dwelt 
on the horrors of — ” 


130 


THE PHANTOM DESTROYER 


“Look out!” shouted MacLeod, leaping in front of 
Kennedy. 

The strain of the revelation had been too much. 
Snedden — a raving maniac — had reeled forward, 
wildly and impotently, at the man who had exposed 
him. 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


H, Mr. Jameson, if they could only wake her 



up — find out what is the matter — do some- 
thing! This suspense is killing both mother and 
myself.” 

Scenting a good feature story, my city editor 
had sent me out on an assignment, my sole equip- 
ment being a clipping pf two paragraphs from the 
morning Star. 

GIRL IN COMA SIX DAYS— SHOWS NO SIGN OF 
REVIVAL 

Virginia Blakeley, the nineteen-year-old daughter of Mrs. 
Stuart Blakeley, of Riverside Drive, who has been in a state of 
coma for six days, still shows no sign of returning consciousness. 

Ever since Monday some member of her family has been 
constantly beside her. Her mother and sister have both vainly 
tried to coax her back to consciousness, but their efforts have 
not met with the slightest response. Dr. Calvert Haynes, the 
family physician, and several specialists who have been called 
in consultation, are completely baffled by the strange malady. 

Often I had read of cases of morbid sleep lasting 
for days and even for weeks. But this was the first 
case I had ever actually encountered and I was glad 
to take the assignment. 

The Blakeleys, as every one knew, had inherited 


132 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


from Stuart Blakeley a very considerable fortune in 
real estate in one of the most rapidly developing 
sections of upper New York, and on the death of 
their mother the two girls, Virginia and Cynthia, 
would be numbered among the wealthiest heiresses 
of the city. 

They lived in a big sandstone mansion fronting 
the Hudson and it was with some misgiving that I 
sent up my card. Both Mrs. Blakeley and her other 
daughter, however, met me in the reception-room, 
thinking, perhaps, from what I had written on the 
card, that I might have some assistance to offer 
Mrs. Blakeley was a well-preserved lady, past 
middle-age, and very nervous. 

“Mercy, Cynthia!” she exclaimed, as I explained 
my mission, “it’s another one of those reporters. 
No, I cannot say anything — not a word. I don’t 
know anything. See Doctor Haynes. I — ” 

“But, mother,” interposed Cynthia, more calmly, 
“the thing is in the papers. It may be that some 
one who reads of it may know of something that 
can be done. Who can tell?” 

“Well, I won’t say anything,” persisted the 
elder woman. “I don’t like all this publicity. Did 
the newspapers ever do anything but harm to your 
poor dear father? No, I won’t talk. It won’t do us 
a bit of good. And you, Cynthia, had better be 
careful.” 

Mrs. Blakeley backed out of the door, but Cynthia, 
who was a few years older than her sister, had evi- 
dently acquired independence. At least she felt 
capable of coping with an ordinary reporter who 
looked no more formidable than myself, 
io 133 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“It is quite possible that some one who knows 
about such cases may learn of this,’ ’ I urged. 

She hesitated as her mother disappeared, and 
looked at me a moment, then, her feelings getting 
the better of her, burst forth with the strange appeal 
I have already quoted. 

It was as though I had come at just an opportune 
moment when she must talk to some outsider to 
relieve her pent-up feelings. 

By an adroit question here and there, as we stood 
in the reception-hall, I succeeded in getting the 
story, which seemed to be more of human interest 
than of news. I even managed to secure a photo- 
graph of Virginia as she was before the strange sleep 
fell on her. 

Briefly, as her sister told it, Virginia was en- 
gaged to Hampton Haynes, a young medical student 
at the college where his father was a professor of 
diseases of the heart. The Hayneses were of a fine 
Southern family which had never recovered from the 
war and had finally come to New York. The father, 
Dr. Calvert Haynes, in addition to being a well- 
known physician, was the family physician of the 
Blakeleys, as I already knew. 

“Twice the date of the marriage has been set, only 
to be postponed,” added Cynthia Blakeley. “We 
don’t know what to do. And Hampton is frantic.” 

“Then this is really the second attack of the 
morbid sleep?” I queried. 

“Yes — in a few weeks. Only the other wasn’t so 
long — not more than a day.” 

She said it in a hesitating manner which I could 
not account for. Either she thought there might be 
i34 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


something more back of it or she recalled her 
mother’s aversion to reporters and did not know 
whether she was saying too much or not. 

“Do you really fear that there is something 
wrong?” I asked, significantly, hastily choosing the 
former explanation. 

Cynthia Blakeley looked quickly at the door 
through which her mother had retreated. 

“I — I don’t know,” she replied, tremulously. “I 
don’t know why I am talking to you. I’m so afraid, 
too, that the newspapers may say something that 
isn’t true.” 

“You would like to get at the truth, if I promise 
to hold the story back?” I persisted, catching her eye. 

“Yes,” she answered, in a low tone, “but — ” then 
stopped. 

“I will ask my friend, Professor Kennedy, at the 
university, to come here,” I urged. 

“You know him?” she asked, eagerly. “He will 
come?” 

“Without a doubt,” I reassured, waiting for her 
to say no more, but picking up the telephone re- 
ceiver on a stand in the hall. 

Fortunately I found Craig at his laboratory and 
a few hasty words were all that was necessary to 
catch his interest. 

“I must tell mother,” Cynthia cried, excitedly, as 
I hung up the receiver. “Surely she cannot object 
to that. Will you wait here?” 

As I waited for Craig, I tried to puzzle the case out 
for myself. Though I knew nothing about it as yet, 
I felt sure that I had not made a mistake and that 
there was some mystery here. 

i35 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Suddenly I became aware that the two women 
were talking in the next room, though too low for 
me to catch what they were saying. It was evident, 
however, that Cynthia was having some difficulty 
in persuading her mother that everything was all 
right. 

“Well, Cynthia,” I heard her mother say, finally, 
as she left the room for one farther back, “I hope 
it will be all right — that is all I can say.” 

What was it that Mrs. Blakeley so feared? Was 
it merely the unpleasant notoriety? One could not 
help the feeling that there was something more that 
she suspected, perhaps knew, but would not tell. 
Yet, apparently, it was aside from her desire to have 
her daughter restored to normal. She was at sea, 
herself, I felt. 

“Poor dear mother!” murmured Cynthia, re- 
joining me in a few moments. “She hardly knows 
just what it is she does want — except that we want 
Virginia well again.” 

We had not long to wait for Craig. What I had 
told him over the telephone had been quite enough 
to arouse his curiosity. 

Both Mrs. Blakeley and Cynthia met him, at 
first a little fearfully, but quickly reassured by his 
manner, as well as my promise to see that nothing 
appeared in the Star which would be distasteful. 

“Oh, if some one could only bring back our little 
girl!” cried Mrs. Blakeley, with suppressed emotion, 
leading the way with her daughter up-stairs. 

It was only for a moment that I could see Craig 
alone to explain the impressions I had received, but 
it was enough. 


136 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


“I’m glad you called me,” he whispered. “There 
is something queer.” 

We followed them up to the dainty bedroom in 
flowered enamel where Virginia Blakeley lay, and 
it was then for the first time that we saw her. Ken- 
nedy drew a chair up beside the little white bed and 
went to work almost as though he had been a 
physician himself. 

Partly from what I observed myself and partly 
from what he told me afterward, I shall try to 
describe the peculiar condition in which she was. 

She lay there lethargic, scarcely breathing. Once 
she had been a tall, slender, fair girl, with a sort of 
wild grace. Now she seemed to be completely 
altered. I could not help thinking of the contrast 
between her looks now and the photograph in my 
pocket. 

Not only was her respiration slow, but her pulse 
was almost imperceptible, less than forty a minute. 
Her temperature was far below normal, and her blood 
pressure low. Once she had seemed fully a woman, 
with all the strength and promise of precocious 
maturity. But now there was something strange 
about her looks. It is difficult to describe. It was 
not that she was no longer a young woman, but 
there seemed to be something almost sexless about 
her. It was as though her secondary sex character- 
istics were no longer feminine, but — for want of a 
better word — neuter. 

Yet, strange to say, in spite of the lethargy which 
necessitated at least some artificial feeding, she was 
not falling away. She seemed, if anything, plump. 
To all appearances there was really a retardation of 
i37 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


metabolism connected with the trance-like sleep. 
She was actually gaining in weight ! 

As he noted one of these things after another, 
Kennedy looked at her long and carefully. I fol- 
lowed the direction of his eyes. Over her nose, just 
a trifle above the line of her eyebrows, was a peculiar 
red mark, a sore, which was very disfiguring, as 
though it were hard to heal. 

“What is that?” he asked Mrs. Blakeley, finally. 

“I don’t know,” she replied, slowly. “We’ve all 
noticed it. It came just after the sleep began.” 

“You have no idea what could have caused it?” 

“Both Virginia and Cynthia have been going to a 
face specialist,” she admitted, “to have their skins 
treated for freckles. After the treatment they wore 
masks which were supposed to have some effect on 
the skin. I don’t know. Could it be that?” 

Kennedy looked sharply at Cynthia’s face. There 
was no red mark over her nose. But there were 
certainly no freckles on either of the girls’ faces now, 
either. 

“Oh, mother,” remonstrated Cynthia, “it couldn’t 
be anything Doctor Chapelle did.” 

“Doctor Chapelle?” repeated Kennedy. 

“Yes, Dr. Carl Chapelle,” replied Mrs. Blakeley. 
“Perhaps you have heard of him. He is quite well 
known, has a beauty-parlor on Fifth Avenue. He — ’ ’ 

“It’s ridiculous,” cut in Cynthia, sharply. “Why, 
my face was worse than Virgie’s. Car — He said it 
would take longer.” 

I had been watching Cynthia, but it needed only 
to have heard her to see that Doctor Chapelle was 
something more than a beauty specialist to her. 

138 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


Kennedy glanced thoughtfully from the clear 
skin of Cynthia to the red mark on Virginia. Though 
he said nothing, I could see that his mind was on it. 

I had heard of the beauty doctors who promise to 
give one a skin as soft and clear as a baby’s — and 
often, by their inexpert use of lotions and chemicals, 
succeed in ruining the skin and disfiguring the 
patient for life. Could this be a case of that 
sort? Yet how explain the apparent success with 
Cynthia? 

The elder sister, however, was plainly vexed at 
the mention of the beauty doctor’s name at all, and 
she showed it. Kennedy made a mental note of 
the matter, but refrained from saying any more 
about it. 

“I suppose there is no objection to my seeing 
Doctor Haynes?” asked Kennedy, rising and chang- 
ing the subject. 

“None whatever,” returned Mrs. Blakeley. “If 
there’s anything you or he can do to bring Virginia 
out of this — anything safe — I want it done,” she 
emphasized. 

Cynthia was silent as we left. Evidently she had 
not expected Doctor Chapelle’s name to be brought 
into the case. 

We were lucky in finding Doctor Haynes at home, 
although it was not the regular time for his office 
hours. Kennedy introduced himself as a friend of the 
Blakeleys who had been asked to see that I made 
no blunders in writing the story for the Star . Doctor 
Haynes did not question the explanation. 

He was a man well on toward the sixties, with 
that magnetic quality that inspires the confidence so 
139 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

necessary ior a doctor. Far from wealthy, he had 
attained a high place in the profession. 

As Kennedy finished his version of our mission, 
Doctor Haynes shook his head with a deep sigh. 

“You can understand how I feel toward the 
Blakeleys,” he remarked, at length. “I should con- 
sider it unethical to give an interview under any 
circumstances — much more so under the present.” 

“Still,” I put in, taking Kennedy’s cue, “just a 
word to set me straight can’t do any harm. I won’t 
quote you directly.” 

He seemed to realize that it might be better to 
talk carefully than to leave all to my imagination. 

“Well,” he began, slowly, “I have considered all 
the usual causes assigned for such morbid sleep. It 
is not auto-suggestion or trance, I am positive. Nor 
is there any trace of epilepsy. I cannot see how it 
could be due to poisoning, can you?” 

I admitted readily that I could not. 

“No,” he resumed, “it is just a case of what we 
call narcolepsy — pathological somnolence — a sud- 
den, uncontrollable inclination to sleep, occurring 
sometimes repeatedly or at varying intervals. I 
don’t think it hysterical, epileptic, or toxemic. The 
plain fact of the matter, gentlemen, is that neither 
myself nor any of my colleagues whom I have con- 
sulted have the faintest idea what it is — yet.” 

The door of the office opened, for it was not the 
hour for consulting patients, and a tall, athletic 
young fellow, with a keen and restless face, though 
very boyish, entered. 

“My son,” the doctor introduced, “soon to be the 
sixth Doctor Haynes in direct line in the family:” 

140 


THE BEAUTY MASK 

/ 

We shook hands. It was evident that Cynthia 
had not by any means exaggerated when she said 
that he was frantic over what had happened to his 
fiancee. 

Accordingly, there was no difficulty in reverting to 
the subject of our visit. Gradually I let Kennedy 
take the lead in the conversation so that our position 
might not seem to be false. 

It was not long before Craig managed to inject a 
remark about the red spot over Virginia’s nose. 
It seemed to excite young Hampton. 

“Naturally I look on it more as a doctor than a 
lover,” remarked his father, smiling indulgently at 
the young man, whom it was evident he regarded 
above everything else in the world. “I have not 
been able to account for it, either. Really the case 
is one of the most remarkable I have ever heard of.” 

“You have heard of a Dr. Carl Chapelle?” in- 
quired Craig, tentatively. 

“A beauty doctor,” interrupted the young man, 
turning toward his father. “You’ve met him. He’s 
the fellow I think is really engaged to Cynthia.” 

Hampton seemed much excited. There was un- 
concealed animosity in the manner of his remark, 
and I wondered why it was. Could there be some 
latent jealousy? 

“I see,” calmed Doctor Haynes. “You mean to 
infer that this — er — this Doctor Chapelle — ” He 
paused, waiting for Kennedy to take the initiative. 

“I suppose you’ve noticed over Miss Blakeley’s 
nose a red sore?” hazarded Kennedy. 

“Yes,” replied Doctor Haynes, “rather refractory, 
too. I — ” 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Say,” interrupted Hampton, who by this time 
had reached a high pitch of excitement, “say, do 
you think it could be any of his confounded nostrums 
back of this thing?” 

“Careful, Hampton,” cautioned the elder man. 

“I’d like to see him,” pursued Craig to the 
younger. “You know him?” 

“Know him? I should say I do. Good-looking, 
good practice, and all that, but — why, he must 
have hypnotized that girl! Cynthia thinks he’s 
wonderful.” 

“I’d like to see him,” suggested Craig. 

“Very well,” agreed Hampton, taking him at his 
word. “Much as I dislike the fellow, I have no 
objection to going down to his beauty-parlor with 
you.” 

“Thank you,” returned Craig, as we excused our- 
selves and left the elder Doctor Haynes. 

Several times on our journey down Hampton 
could not resist some reference to Chapelle for com- 
mercializing the profession, remarks which sounded 
strangely old on his lips. 

Chapelle’s office, we found, was in a large building 
on Fifth Avenue in the new shopping district, where 
hundreds of thousands of women passed almost 
daily. He called the place a Dermatological Insti- 
tute, but, as Hampton put it, he practised “deco- 
rative surgery.” 

As we entered one door, we saw that patients left 
by another. Evidently, as Craig whispered, when 
sixty sought to look like sixteen the seekers did not 
like to come in contact with one another. 

We waited some time in a little private room. At 
142 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


last Doctor Chapelle himself appeared, a rather 
handsome man with the manner that one instinc- 
tively feels appeals to the ladies. 

He shook hands with young Haynes, and I could 
detect no hostility on Chapelle’ s part, but rather a 
friendly interest in a younger member of the medical 
profession. 

Again I was thrown forward as a buffer. I was 
their excuse for being there. However, a newspaper 
experience gives you one thing, if no other — assurance. 

“I believe you have a patient, a Miss Virginia 
Blakeley?” I ventured. 

“Miss Blakeley? Oh yes, and her sister, also.” 

The mention of the names was enough. I was no 
longer needed as a buffer. 

“Chapelle,” blurted out Hampton, “you must 
have done something to her when you treated her 
face. There’s a little red spot over her nose that 
hasn’t healed yet.” 

Kennedy frowned at the impetuous interruption. 
Yet it was perhaps the best thing that could have 
happened. 

“So,” returned Chapelle, drawing back and plac- 
ing his head on one side as he nodded it with each 
word, “you think I’ve spoiled her looks? Aren’t 
the freckles gone?” 

“Yes,” retorted Hampton, bitterly, “but on her 
face is this new disfigurement.” 

‘ ‘ That ?” shrugged Chapelle. ‘ ‘ I know nothing of 
that — nor of the trance. I have only my specialty.” 

Calm though he appeared outwardly, one could 
see that Chapelle was plainly worried. Under the 
circumstances, might not his professional reputa- 
i43 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

tion be at stake ? What if a hint like this got abroad 
among his rich clientele? 

I looked about his shop and wondered just how 
much of a faker he was. Once or twice I had heard 
of surgeons who had gone legitimately into this sort 
of thing. But the common story was that of the 
swindler — or worse. I had heard of scores of cases 
of good looks permanently ruined, seldom of any 
benefit. Had Chapelle ignorantly done something 
that would leave its scar forever? Or was he one 
of the few who were honest and careful ? 

Whatever the case, Kennedy had accomplished 
his purpose. He had seen Chapelle. If he were 
really guilty of anything the chances were all in 
favor of his betraying it by trying to cover it up. 
Deftly suppressing Hampton, we managed to beat a 
retreat without showing our hands any further. 

“Humph!” snorted Hampton, as we rode down in 
the elevator and hopped on a ’bus to go up-town. 
“Gave up legitimate medicine and took up this 
beauty doctoring — it’s unprofessional, I tell you. 
Why, he even advertises!” 

We left Hampton and returned to the laboratory, 
though Craig had no present intention of staying 
there. His visit was merely for the purpose of 
gathering some apparatus, which included a Crookes 
tube, carefully packed, a rheostat, and some other 
paraphernalia which we divided. A few moments 
later we were on our way again to the Blakeley 
mansion. 

No change had taken place in the condition of the 
patient, and Mrs. Blakeley met us anxiously. Nor 
was the anxiety wholly over her daughter’s condi- 
144 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


tion, for there seemed to be an air of relief when 
Kennedy told her that we had little to report. 

Up-stairs in the sick-room, Craig set silently to 
work, attaching his apparatus to an electric-light 
socket from which he had unscrewed the bulb. As 
he proceeded I saw that it was, as I had surmised, 
his new X-ray photographing machine which he had 
brought. Carefully, from several angles, he took 
photographs of Virginia’s head, then, without saying 
a word, packed up his kit and started away. 

We were passing down the hall, after leaving Mrs. 
Blakeley, when a figure stepped out from behind a 
portiere. It was Cynthia, who had been waiting to 
see us alone. 

“You — don’t think Doctor Chapelle had anything 
to do with it?” she asked, in a hoarse whisper. 

“Then Hampton Haynes has been here?” avoided 
Kennedy. 

“Yes,” she admitted, as though the question had 
been quite logical. “He told me of your visit to 
Carl.” 

There w r as no concealment, now, of her anxiety. 
Indeed, I saw no reason why there should be. It was 
quite natural that the girl should worry over her 
lover, if she thought there was even a haze of sus- 
picion in Kennedy’s mind. 

“Really I have found out nothing yet,” was the 
only answer Craig gave, from which I readily de- 
duced that he was well satisfied to play the game 
by pitting each against all, in the hope of gathering 
here and there a bit of the truth. “As soon as I find 
out anything I shall let you and your mother know. 
And you must tell me everything, too.” 

i4S 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

He paused to emphasize the last words, then 
slowly turned again toward the door. From the 
corner of my eye I saw Cynthia take a step after 
him, pause, then take another. 

“Oh, Professor Kennedy,” she called. 

Craig turned. 

“There’s something I forgot,” she continued. 
“There’s something wrong with mother!” She 
paused, then resumed: “Even before Virginia was 
taken down with this — illness I saw a change. She 
is worried. Oh, Professor Kennedy, what is it? 
We have all been so happy. And now — Virgie, 
mother — all I have in the world. What shall I do?” 

“Just what do you mean?” asked Kennedy, gently. 

“I don’t know. Mother has been so different 
lately. And now, every night, she goes out.” 

“Where?” encouraged Kennedy, realizing that 
his plan was working. 

“I don’t know. If she would only come back 
looking happier.” She was sobbing, convulsively, 
over she knew not what. 

“Miss Blakeley,” said Kennedy, taking her hand 
between both of his, “only trust me. If it is in my 
power I shall bring you all out of this uncertainty 
that haunts you.” 

She could only murmur her thanks as we left. 

“It is strange,” ruminated Kennedy, as we sped 
across the city again to the laboratory. “We must 
watch Mrs. Blakeley.” 

That was all that was said. Although I had no 
inkling of what was back of it all, I felt quite sat- 
isfied at having recognized the mystery even on 
stumbling on it as I had. 

146 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


In the laboratory, as soon as he could develop the 
skiagraphs he had taken, Kennedy began a minute 
study of them. It was not long before he looked 
over at me with the expression I had come to recog- 
nize when he found something important. I went 
over and looked at the radiograph which he was 
•studying. To me it was nothing but successive 
gradations of shadows. But to one who had studied 
roentgenography as Kennedy had each minute gra- 
dation of light and shade had its meaning. 

“You see,” pointed out Kennedy, tracing along 
one of the shadows with a fine-pointed pencil, and 
then along a corresponding position on another 
standard skiagraph which he already had, “there is 
a marked diminution in size of the sella turcica , as 
it is called. Yet there is no evidence of a tumor.” 
For several moments he pondered deeply over the 
photographs. “And it is impossible to conceive of 
any mechanical pressure sufficient to cause such a 
change,” he added. 

Unable to help him on the problem, whatever it 
might be, I watched him pacing up and down the 
laboratory. 

“I shall have to take that picture over again — 
under different circumstances,” he remarked, finally, 
pausing and looking at his watch. “To-night we 
must follow this clue which Cynthia has given us. 
Call a cab, Walter.” 

We took a stand down the block from the Blakeley 
mansion, near a large apartment, where the presence 
of a cab would not attract attention. If there is any 
job I despise it is shadowing. One must keep his 
eyes riveted on a house, for, once let the attention 
i47 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


relax and it is incredible how quickly any one may 
get out and disappear. 

Our vigil was finally rewarded when we saw Mrs. 
Blakeley emerge and hurry down the street. To 
follow her was easy, for she did not suspect that she 
was being watched, and went afoot. On she walked, 
turning off the Drive and proceeding rapidly toward 
the region of cheap tenements. She paused before 
one, and as our cab cruised leisurely past we saw 
her press a button, the last on the right-hand side, 
enter the door, and start up the stairs. 

Instantly Kennedy signaled our driver to stop 
and together we hopped out and walked back, 
cautiously entering the vestibule. The name in 
the letter-box was “Mrs. Reba Rinehart.” What 
could it mean? 

Just then another cab stopped up the street, and 
as we turned to leave the vestibule Kennedy drew 
back. It was too late, however, not to be seen. A 
man had just alighted and, in turn, had started 
back, also realizing that it was too late. It was 
Chapelle! There was nothing to do but to make 
the best of it. 

“Shadowing the shadowers?” queried Kennedy, 
keenly watching the play of his features under the 
arc-light of the street. 

‘ ‘ Miss Cynthia asked me to follow her mother the 
other night,” he answered, quite frankly. “And I 
have been doing so ever since.” 

It was a glib answer, at any rate, I thought. 

“Then, perhaps you know something of Reba 
Rinehart, too,” bluffed Kennedy. 

Chapelle eyed us a moment, in doubt how much we 
148 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


knew. Kennedy played a pair of deuces as if they 
had been four aces instead. 

“Not much,” replied Chapelle, dubiously. “I 
know that Mrs. Blakeley has been paying money to 
the old woman, who seems to be ill. Once I man- 
aged to get in to see her. It’s a bad case of pernicious 
anemia, I should say. A neighbor told me she had 
been to the college hospital, had been one of Doctor 
Haynes’s cases, but that he had turned her over to 
his son. I’ve seen Hampton Haynes here, too.” 

There was an air of sincerity about Chapelle’s 
words. But, then, I reflected that there had also 
been a similar ring to what we had heard Hampton 
say. Were they playing a game against each other? 
Perhaps — but what was the game? What did it all 
mean and why should Mrs. Blakeley pay money to 
an old woman, a charity patient? 

There was no solution. Both Kennedy and 
Chapelle, by a sort of tacit consent, dismissed their 
cabs, and we strolled on over toward Broadway, 
watching one another, furtively. We parted finally, 
and Craig and I went up to our apartment, where 
he sat for hours in a brown study. There was 
plenty to think about even so far in the affair. He 
may have sat up all night. At any rate, he roused 
me early in the morning. 

“Come over to the laboratory,” he said. “I want 
I to take that X-ray machine up there again to 
Blakeley’s. Confound it! I hope it’s not too late.” 

I lost no time in joining him and we were at the 
house long before any reasonable hour for visitors. 

Kennedy asked for Mrs. Blakeley and hurriedly 
set up the X-ray apparatus. “I wish you would 
ii i49 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


place that face mask which she was wearing exactly 
as it was before she became ill,” he asked. 

Her mother did as Kennedy directed, replacing 
the rubber mask as Virginia had worn it. 

“I want you to preserve that mask,” directed 
Kennedy, as he finished taking his pictures. “Say 
nothing about it to any one. In fact, I should advise 
putting it in your family safe for the present.” 

Hastily we drove back to the laboratory and 
Kennedy set to work again developing the second 
set of skiagraphs. I had not long to wait, this time, 
for him to study them. His first glance brought me 
over to him as he exclaimed loudly. 

At the point just opposite the sore which he had 
observed on Virginia’s forehead, and overlying the 
sella turcica , there was a peculiar spot on the radio- 
graph. 

“Something in that mask has affected the photo- 
graphic plate,” he explained, his face now animated. 

Before I could ask him what it was he had opened 
a cabinet where he kept many new things which he 
studied in his leisure moments. From it I saw him 
take several glass ampules which he glanced at 
hastily and shoved into his pocket as we heard a 
footstep out in the hall. It was Chapelle, very much 
worried. Could it be that he knew his society clien- 
tele was at stake, I wondered. Or was it more than 
that? 

“She’s dead!” he cried. “The old lady died last 
night!” 

Without a word Kennedy hustled us out of the 
laboratory, stuffing the X-ray pictures into his 
pocket, also, as we went. 

x 5o 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


As we hurried down-town Chapelle told us how he 
had tried to keep a watch by bribing one of the 
neighbors, who had just informed him of the tragedy. 

“It was her heart,” said one of the neighbors, as 
we entered the poor apartment. “The doctor said 
so.” 

“Anemia,” insisted Chapelle, looking carefully 
at the body. 

Kennedy bent over, also, and examined the poor, 
worn frame. As he did so he caught sight of a heavy 
linen envelope tucked under her pillow. He pulled 
it out gently and opened it. Inside were several 
time-worn documents and letters. He glanced over 
them hastily, unfolding first a letter. 

“Walter,” he whispered, furtively, looking at the 
neighbors in the room and making sure that none 
of them had seen the envelope already. “Read 
these. That’s her story.” 

One glance was sufficient. The first was a letter 
from old Stuart Blakeley. Reba Rinehart had been 
secretly married to him — and never divorced. One 
paper after another unfolded her story. 

I thought quickly. Then she had had a right in 
the Blakeley millions. More than that, the Blakeleys 
themselves had none, at least only what came to 
them by Blakeley’s will. 

I read on, 'to see what, if any, contest she had 
intended to make. And as I read I could picture old 
Stuart Blakeley to myself — strong, direct, un- 
scrupulous, a man who knew what he wanted and 
got it, dominant, close-mouthed, mysterious. He 
had understood and estimated the future of New 
York. On that he had founded his fortune. 

151 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


According to the old lady’s story, the marriage 
was a complete secret. She had demanded marriage 
when he had demanded her. He had pointed out 
the difficulties. The original property had come to 
him and would remain in his hands only on condition 
that he married one of his own faith. She was not 
of the faith and declined to become so. There had 
been other family reasons, also. They had been 
married, with the idea of keeping it secret until he 
could arrange his affairs so that he could safely 
acknowledge her. 

It was, according to her story, a ruse. When she 
demanded recognition he replied that the marriage 
was invalid, that the minister had been unfrocked 
before the ceremony. She was not in law his wife 
and had no claim, he asserted. But he agreed to 
compromise, in spite of it all. If she would go West 
and not return or intrude, he would make a cash 
settlement. Disillusioned, she took the offer and 
went to California. Somehow, he understood that 
she was dead. Years later he married again. 

Meanwhile she had invested her settlement, had 
prospered, had even married herself, thinking the 
first marriage void. Then her second husband died 
and evil times came. Blakeley was dead, but she 
came East. Since then she had been fighting to 
establish the validity of the first marriage and hence 
her claim to dower rights. It was a moving story. 

As we finished reading, Kennedy gathered the 
papers together and took charge of them. Taking 
Chapelle, who by this time was in a high state of 
excitement over both the death and the discovery, 
Kennedy hurried to the Blakeley mansion, stopping 
152 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


only long enough to telephone to Doctor Haynes 
and his son. 

Evidently the news had spread. Cynthia Blakeley 
met us in the hall, half frightened, yet much relieved. 

“Oh, Professor Kennedy,’ ’ she cried, “I don’t 
know what it is, but mother seems so different. 
What is it all about?” 

As Kennedy said nothing, she turned to Chapelle, 
whom I was watching narrowly. ‘ ‘ What is it, Carl ?” 
she whispered. 

“I — I can’t tell,” he whispered back, guardedly. 
Then, with an anxious glance at the rest of us, ‘ ‘ Is 
your sister any better?” 

Cynthia’s face clouded. Relieved though she was 
about her mother, there was still that horror for 
Virginia. 

“Come,” I interrupted, not wishing to let Chapelle 
get out of my sight, yet wishing to follow Kennedy, 
who had dashed up-stairs. 

I found Craig already at the bedside of Virginia. 
He had broken one of the ampules and was injecting 
some of the extract in it into the sleeping girl’s arm. 
Mrs. Blakeley bent over eagerly as he did so. Even 
in her manner she was changed. There was anxiety 
for Virginia yet, but one could feel that a great weight 
seemed to be lifted from her. 

So engrossed was I in watching Kennedy that I 
did not hear Doctor Haynes and Hampton enter. 
Chapelle heard, however, and turned. 

For a moment he gazed at Hampton. Then with 
a slight curl of the lip he said, in a low tone, “Is it 
strictly ethical to treat a patient for disease of the 
heart when she is suffering from anemia — if you 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


have an interest in the life and death of the 
patient ?” 

I watched Hampton’s face closely. There was 
indignation in every line of it. But before he could 
reply Doctor Haynes stepped forward. 

“My son was right in the diagnosis,” he almost 
shouted, shaking a menacing finger at Chapelle. 
“To come to the point, sir, explain that mark on 
Miss Virginia’s forehead!” 

“Yes,” demanded Hampton, also taking a step 
toward the beauty doctor, “explain it — if you 
dare.” 

Cynthia suppressed a little cry of fear. For a 
moment I thought that the two young men would 
forget everything in the heat of their feelings. 

“Just a second,” interposed Kennedy, quickly 
stepping between them. “Let me do the talking.” 
There was something commanding about his tone 
as he looked from one to the other of us. 

“The trouble with Miss Virginia,” he added, 
deliberately, “seems to lie in one of what the scien- 
tists have lately designated the ‘endocrine glands’ — • 
in this case the pituitary. My X-ray pictures show 
that conclusively. 

“Let me explain for the benefit of the rest. The 
pituitary is an oval glandular body composed of two 
lobes and a connecting area, which rest in the sella 
turcica , enveloped by a layer of tissue, about under 
this point.” He indicated the red spot on her 
forehead as he spoke. “It is, as the early French 
surgeons called it, Vorgane enigmatique. The an- 
cients thought it discharged the pituita, or mucus, 
into the nose. Most scientists of the past century 
i54 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


asserted that it was a vestigial relic of prehistoric 
usefulness. To-day we know better. 

“One by one the functions of the internal secre- 
tions are being discovered. Our variously acquired 
bits of information concerning the ductless glands 
lie before us like the fragments of a modern picture 
puzzle. And so, I may tell you, in connection with 
recent experimental studies of the role of the pitui- 
tary, Doctor Cushing and other collaborators at 
Johns Hopkins have noticed a marked tendency to 
pass into a profoundly lethargic state when the 
secretion of the pituitary is totally or nearly so 
removed.” 

Kennedy now had every eye riveted on him as he 
deftly led the subject straight to the case of the poor 
girl before us. 

“This,” he added, with a wave of his hand toward 
her, “is much like what is called the Frohlich syn- 
drome — the lethargy, the subnormal temperature, 
slow pulse, and respiration, lowered blood pressure, 
and insensitivity, the growth of fat and the loss of 
sex characteristics. It has a name — dystrophia 
adiposogenitalis. ’ ’ 

He nodded to Doctor Haynes, but did not pause. 
“This case bears a striking resemblance to the 
pronounced natural somnolence of hibernation. 
And induced hypopituitarism — under activity of the 
gland — produces a result just like natural hiberna- 
tion. Hibernation has nothing to do with winter, 
or with food, primarily ; it is connected in some way 
with this little gland under the forehead. 

“As the pituitary secretion is lessened, the block- 
ing action of the fatigue products in the body be- 
i55 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


comes greater and morbid somnolence sets in. There 
is a high tolerance of carbohydrates which are 
promptly stored as fat. I am surprised, Doctor 
Haynes, that you did not recognize the symptoms.” 

A murmur from Mrs. Blakeley cut short Doctor 
Haynes’s reply. I thought I noticed a movement of 
the still face on the white bed. 

“Virgie! Virgie!” called Mrs. Blakeley, dropping 
on her knee beside her daughter. 

“I’m here — mother!” 

Virginia’s eyes opened ever so slightly. Her face 
turned just an inch or two. She seemed to be 
making a great effort, but it lasted only a moment. 
Then she slipped back into the strange condition 
that had baffled skilled physicians and surgeons for 
nearly a week. 

“The sleep is being dispelled,” said Kennedy, 
quietly placing his hand on Mrs. Blakeley’s shoulder. 
“It is a sort of semi-consciousness now and the im- 
provement should soon be great.” 

“And that?” I asked, touching the empty ampule 
from which he had injected the contents into her. 

“Pituitrin — the extract of the anterior lobe of the 
pituitary body. Some one who had an object in 
removing her temporarily probably counted on re- 
storing her to her former blooming womanhood 
by pituitrin — and by removing the cause of the 
trouble.” 

Kennedy reached into his pocket and drew forth 
the second X-ray photograph he had taken. “Mrs. 
Blakeley, may I trouble you to get that beauty 
mask which your daughter wore?” 

Mechanically Mrs. Blakeley obeyed. I expected 
156 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


Chapelle to object, but not a word broke the death- 
like stillness. 

“The narcolepsy,” continued Kennedy, taking the 
mask, “was due, I find, to something that affected 
the pituitary gland. I have here a photograph of 
her taken when she was wearing the mask.” He 
ran his finger lightly over the part just above the 
eyes. “Feel that little lump, Walter,” he directed. 

I did so. It was almost imperceptible, but there 
was something. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“Located in one of the best protected and most 
inaccessible parts of the body,” Kennedy considered, 
slowly, “how could the pituitary be reached? If you 
will study my skiagraph, you will see how I got my 
first clue. There was something over that spot 
which caused the refractory sore. What was it? 
Radium — carefully placed in the mask with guards 
of lead foil in such a way as to protect the eyes, but 
direct the emission full at the gland which was to be 
affected, and the secretions stopped.” 

Chapelle gave a gasp. He was pale and agitated. 

“Some of you have already heard of Reba Rine- 
hart,” shot out Kennedy, suddenly changing the 
subject. 

Mrs. Blakeley could not have been more astounded 
if a bomb had dropped before her. Still kneeling 
before Virginia’s bed, she turned her startled face 
at Kennedy, clasping her hands in appeal. 

“It was for my girls that I tried to buy her off — 
for their good name — their fortune — their future,” 
she cried, imploringly. 

Kennedy bent down, “I know that is all,” he 
i57 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


reassured, then, facing us, went on: “Behind that 
old woman was a secret of romantic interest. She 
was contemplating filing suit in the courts to recover 
a widow’s interest in the land on which now stand 
the homes of millionaires, hotel palaces, luxurious 
apartments, and popular theaters — millions of dol - 
lars’ worth of property.” 

Cynthia moved over and drew her arms about, 
the convulsed figure of her mother. 

‘ ‘ Some one else knew of this old marriage of Stuart 
Blakeley,” proceeded Kennedy, “knew of Reba 
Rinehart, knew that she might die at any moment. 
But until she died none of the Blakeleys could be 
entirely sure of their fortune.” 

It flashed over me that Chapelle might have com 
ceived the whole scheme, seeking to gain the entire 
fortune for Cynthia. 

“Who was interested enough to plot this post- 
ponement of the wedding until the danger to the 
fortune was finally removed?” I caught sight of 
Hampton Haynes, his eyes riveted on the face on the 
bed before us. 

Virginia stirred again. This time her eyes opened 
wider. As if in a dream she caught sight of the face 
of her lover and smiled wanly. 

Could it have been Hampton? It seemed in- 
credible. 

“The old lady is dead,” pursued Kennedy, tensely. 
“Her dower right died with her. Nothing can be 
gained by bringing her case back again — except to 
trouble the Blakeleys in what is rightfully theirs.” 

Gathering up the beauty mask, the X-ray photo- 
graphs, and the papers of Mrs. Rinehart, Kennedy 
158 


THE BEAUTY MASK 


emphasized with them the words as he whipped them 
out suddenly. 

‘ ‘ Postponing the marriage, at the possible expense 
of Chapelle, until Reba Rinehart was dead, and 
trusting to a wrong diagnosis and Hampton’s inex- 
perience as the surest way of bringing that result 
about quickly, it was your inordinate ambition for 
your son, Doctor Haynes, that led you on. I shall 
hold these proofs until Virginia Blakeley is restored 
completely to health and beauty.” 


VII 


THE LOVE METER 

“QINCE we brought him home, my brother just 
^ tosses and gasps for air. Oh, I think Eulalie 
and I shall both go mad!” 

The soft, pleading voice of Anitra Barrios and her 
big, appealing brown eyes filled with tears were 
doubly affecting as, in spite of her own feelings, she 
placed her hand on that of a somewhat younger girl 
who had accompanied her to the laboratory. 

“We were to have been married next month,” 
sobbed Eulalie Sandoval. “Can’t you come and see 
Jose, Professor Kennedy? There must be some- 
thing you can do. We fear he is dying — yes, 
dying.” 

“Poor little girl!” murmured Anitra, still patting 
her hand affectionately, then to us, “You know, 
Eulalie is the sister of Manuel Sandoval, who manages 
the New York business of my brother.” She paused. 
“Oh, I can’t believe it, myself. It’s all so strange, 
so sudden.” 

For the moment her own grief overwhelmed 
Anitra, and both sister and sweetheart of Jose 
Barrios clung to each other. 

“What is the trouble?” soothed Craig. “What 
has happened? How can I help you?” 

x6o 


THE LOVE METER 


“Everything was so happy with us,” cried Anitra, 
“until Jose and I came to New York — and — now — ” 
She broke down again. 

“Please be calm,” encouraged Kennedy. “Tell 
me everything — anything . ’ ’ 

With an effort Anitra began again. “It was last 
night — quite late — at his office at the foot of Wall 
Street — he was there alone,” she strove to connect 
her broken thoughts. “Some one — I think it must 
have been the janitor — called me up at home and 
said that my brother was very ill. Eulalie was there 
with me. We hurried down to him. When we got 
there Jose was on the floor by his desk, unconscious, 
struggling for breath, just as he is now.” 

“Did you observe anything peculiar?” queried 
Kennedy. “Was there anything that might give 
you a hint of what had happened?” 

Anitra Barrios considered. “Nothing,” she re- 
plied. slowly, “except that the windows were all 
closed. There was a peculiar odor in the room. I 
was so excited over Jose, though, that I couldn’t tell 
you just what it was like.” 

“What did you do?” inquired Craig. 

“What could we do, just two girls, all alone? It 
was late. The streets were deserted. You know 
how they are down-town at night. We took him 
home, to the hotel, in a cab, and called the hotel 
physician, Doctor Scott.” 

Both girls were again weeping silently in each 
other’s arms. If there was anything that moved 
Kennedy to action it was distress of this sort. With- 
out a word he rose from his desk, and I followed him. 
Anitra and Eulalie seemed to understand. Though 
161 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


they said nothing, they looked their gratitude as 
we four left the laboratory. 

On the way down to the hotel Anitra continued 
to pour out her story in a fragmentary way. Her 
brother and she, it seemed, had inherited from their 
father a large sugar-plantation in Santa Clara, the 
middle province of Cuba. 

Jose had not been like many of the planters. 
He had actually taken hold of the plantation, 
after the revolution had wrecked it, and had re- 
established it on modern, scientific lines. Now it 
was one of the largest independent plantations on 
the island. 

To increase its efficiency, he had later established 
a New York office to look after the sale of the raw 
sugar and had placed it in charge of a friend, Manuel 
Sandoval. A month or so before he had come to 
New York with his sister to sell the plantation, to 
get the high price that the boom in sugar had made 
it worth. It was while he had been negotiating for 
the sale that he had fallen in love with Eulalie and 
they had become engaged. 

Doctor Scott met us in the sitting-room of the 
suite which Anitra and her brother occupied, and, 
as she introduced us, with an anxious glance in the 
direction of the door of the sick-room, he shook his 
head gravely, though he did his best to seem 
encouraging. 

“It’s a case of poisoning of some kind, I fear,” 
he whispered aside to us, at the first opportunity. 
‘‘But I can’t quite make out just what it is.” 

We followed the doctor into the room. Eulalie 
had preceded us and had dropped down on her knees 
162 


THE LOVE METER 


by the bed, passing her little white hand caressingly 
over the pale and distorted face of Jose. 

He was still unconscious, gasping and fighting for 
breath, his features pinched and skin cold and 
clammy. Kennedy examined the stricken man 
carefully, first feeling his pulse. It was barely per- 
ceptible, rapid, thready, and irregular. Now and 
then there were muscular tremblings and convulsive 
movements of the limbs. Craig moved over to the 
side of the room away from the two girls, where 
Doctor Scott was standing. 

“Sometimes,” I heard the doctor venture, “I 
think it is aconite, but the symptoms are not quite 
the same. Besides, I don’t see how it could have been 
administered. There’s no mark on him that might 
have come from a hypodermic, no wound, not even 
a scratch. He couldn’t have swallowed it. Suicide 
is out of the question. But his nose and throat are 
terribly swollen and inflamed. It’s beyond me.” 

I tried to recall other cases I had seen. There was 
one case of Kennedy’s in which several deaths had 
occurred due to aconite. Was this another of that 
sort? I felt unqualified to judge, where Doctor 
Scott himself confessed his inability. Kennedy 
himself said nothing, and from his face I gathered 
that even he had no clue as yet. 

As we left the sick-room, we found that another 
visitor had arrived and was standing in the sitting- 
room. It was Manuel Sandoval. 

Sandoval was a handsome fellow, tall, straight as 
an arrow, with bushy dark hair and a mustache 
which gave him a distinguished appearance. Bom 
in Cuba, he had been educated in the United States, 
163 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


had taken special work in the technology of sugar, 
knew the game from cane to centrifugal and the 
ship to the sugar trust. He was quite as much a 
scientist as a business man. 

He and Eulalie talked for a moment in low tones 
in Cuban Spanish, but it needed only to watch his 
eyes to guess where his heart was. He seemed to 
fairly devour every move that Anitra made about 
the apartment. 

A few minutes later the door opened again and a 
striking-looking man entered. He was a bit older 
than Sandoval, but still young. As he entered he 
bowed to Sandoval and Eulalie but greeted Anitra 
warmly. 

“Mr. Burton Page,” introduced Anitra, turning 
to us quickly, with just the trace of a flush on her 
face. “Mr. Page has been putting my brother in 
touch with people in New York who are interested 
in Cuban sugar-plantations.” 

A call from Doctor Scott for some help took both 
girls into the sick-room for a moment. 

“Is Barrios any better?” asked Page, turning to 
Sandoval. 

Sandoval shook his head in the negative, but said 
nothing. One could not help observing that there 
seemed to be a sort of antipathy between the two, 
and I saw that Craig was observing them both 
closely. 

Page was a typical, breezy Westerner, who had 
first drifted to New York as a mining promoter. 
From that he had gone into selling ranches, and, by 
natural stages, into the promotion of almost any- 
thing in the universe. 


164 


THE LOVE METER 


Sugar being at the time uppermost in the mind 
of the “Street,” Page was naturally to be found 
crammed with facts about that staple. One could 
not help being interested in studying a man of his 
type, as long as one kept his grip on his pocket-book. 
For he was a veritable pied piper when it came to 
enticing dollars to follow him, and in his promo- 
tions he had the reputation of having amassed an 
impressive pile of dollars himself. 

No important change in the condition of Barrios 
had taken place, except that he was a trifle more 
exhausted, and Doctor Scott administered a stimu- 
lant. Kennedy, who was eager to take up the in- 
vestigation of the case on the outside in the hope of 
discovering something that might be dignified into 
being a clue, excused himself, with a nod to Anitra 
to follow into the hall 

“I may look over the office?” Craig ventured 
when we were alone with her. 

“Surely,” she replied, frankly, opening her hand- 
bag which was lying on a table near the door. “I 
have an equal right in the business with my brother. 
Here are the keys. The office has been closed 
to-day.” 

Kennedy took the keys, promising to let her know 
the moment he discovered anything important, and 
we hurried directly down-town. 

The office of the Barrios Company was at the foot 
of Wall Street, where the business of importing 
touched on the financial district. From the window 
one could see freighters unloading their cargoes at 
the docks. In the other direction, capital to the 
billions was represented. But in all that interesting 
12 165 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


neighborhood nothing just at present could surpass 
the mystery of what had taken place in the lonely 
little office late the night before. 

Kennedy passed the rail that shut the outer office 
off from a sort of reception space. He glanced about 
at the safe, the books, papers, and letter-files. It 
would take an accountant and an investigator days, 
perhaps weeks, to trace out anything in them, if 
indeed it were worth while at all. 

Two glass doors opened at one end to two smaller 
private offices, one belonging evidently to Sandoval, 
the other to Barrios. What theory Craig formed I 
could not guess, but as he tiptoed from the hall door, 
past the rail, to the door of Jose’s office, I could see 
that first pf all he was trying to discover whether it 
was possible to enter the outer office and reach Jose’s 
door unseen and unheard by any one sitting at the 
desk inside. Apparently it was easily possible, and 
he paused a moment to consider what good that 
knowledge might do. 

As he did so his eye rested on the floor. A few 
feet away stood one of the modern “ sanitary” desks. 
In this case the legs of the desk raised the desk high 
enough from the floor so that one could at least see 
where the cleaning-woman had left a small pile of 
unsanitary dust near the wall. 

Suddenly Kennedy bent down and poked some- 
thing out of the pile of dust. There on the floor was 
an empty shell of a cartridge. Kennedy picked it 
up and looked at it curiously. 

What did it mean? I recalled that Doctor Scott 
had particularly said that Barrios had not been 
wounded. 


166 


THE LOVE METER 


Still regarding the cartridge shell, Kennedy sat 
down at the desk of Barrios. 

Looking for a piece of paper in which to wrap the 
shell, he pulled out the middle drawer of the desk. 
In a back corner was a package of letters, neatly 
tied. We glanced at them. The envelopes bore the 
name of Jose Barrios and were in the handwriting 
of a woman. Some were postmarked Cuba; others, 
later, New York. Kennedy opened one of them. 

I could not restrain an exclamation of astonish- 
ment. I had expected that they were from Eulalie 
Sandoval. But they were signed by a name that we 
had not heard — Teresa de Leon! 

Hastily Kennedy read through the open letter. Its 
tone seemed to be that of a threat. One sentence I 
recall was, “I would follow you anywhere — I'll 
make you want me." 

One after another Kennedy ran through them. 
All were vague and veiled, as though the writer 
wished by some circumlocution to convey an idea 
that would not be apparent to some third, inquisitive 
party. 

What was back of it all? Had Jose been making 
love to another woman at the same time that he was 
engaged to Eulalie Sandoval ? As far as the contents 
of the letters went there was nothing to show that 
he had done anything wrong. The mystery of the 
“other woman" only served to deepen the mystery 
of what little we already knew. 

Craig dropped the letters into his pocket along 
with the shell, and walked around into the office of 
Sandoval. I followed him. Quickly he made a 
search, but it did not seem to net him anything. 

167 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Meanwhile I had been regarding a queer-looking 
instrument that stood on a flat table against one 
wall. It seemed to consist of a standard on each 
end of which was fastened a disk, besides several 
other arrangements the purpose of which I had not 
the slightest idea. Between the two ends rested a 
glass tube of some liquid. At one end was a lamp; 
the other was fitted with an eyepiece like a telescope. 
Beside the instrument on the table lay some more 
glass-capped tubes and strewn about were samples 
of raw sugar. 

“It is a saccharimeter,” explained Kennedy, also 
looking at it, “an instrument used to detect the 
amount of sugar held in solution, a form of the 
polariscope. We won’t go into the science of it now. 
It’s rather abstruse.” 

He was about to turn back into the outer office 
when an idea seemed to occur to him. He took the 
cartridge from his pocket and carefully scraped off 
what he could of the powder that still adhered to the 
outer rim. It was just a bit, but he dissolved it in 
some liquid from a bottle on the table, filled one of 
the clean glass tubes, capped the open end, and 
placed this tube in the saccharimeter where the first 
one I noticed had been. 

Carefully he lighted the lamp, then squinted 
through the eyepiece at the tube of liquid contain- 
ing what he had derived from the cartridge. He 
made some adjustments, and as he did so his face 
indicated that at last he began to see something 
dimly. The saccharimeter had opened the first rift 
in the haze that surrounded the case. 

“I think I know what we have here,” he said, 
168 


THE LOVE METER 


briefly, rising and placing the tube and its contents 
in his pocket with the other things he had discovered. 
“Of course it is only a hint. This instrument won’t 
tell me finally. But it is worth following up.” 

With a final glance about to make sure that we 
had overlooked nothing, Kennedy closed and locked 
the outside door. 

“I’m going directly up to the laboratory, Walter,” 
decided Kennedy. “Meanwhile you can help me 
very much if you will look up this Teresa de Leon. 
I noticed that the New York letters were written 
on the stationery of the Pan-America Hotel. Get 
what you can. I leave it to you. And if you can 
find out anything about the others, so much the 
better. I’ll see you as soon as you finish.” 

It was rather a large contract. If the story had 
reached the newspaper stage, I should have known 
how to go about it. For there is no detective agency 
in the world like the Star , and even on the slender 
basis that we had, with a flock of reporters deployed 
at every point in the city, with telephones, wires, 
and cables busily engaged, I might have gathered 
priceless information in a few hours. But, as it was, 
whatever was to be got must be got by me alone. 

I found Teresa de Leon registered at the Pan- 
America, as Craig had surmised. Such inquiries as 
I was able to make about the hotel did not show a 
trace of reason for believing that Jose Barrios had 
been numbered among her visitors. While that 
proved nothing as to the relations of the two, it was 
at least reassuring as far as Anitra and Eulalie were 
concerned, and, after all, as in such cases, this was 
their story. 


169 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Not having been able to learn much about the 
lady, I decided finally to send up my card, and to my 
satisfaction she sent back word that she would re- 
ceive me in the parlor of the hotel. 

Teresa de Leon proved to be a really striking 
type of Latin-American beauty. She was no longer 
young, but there was an elusiveness about her per- 
sonality that made a more fascinating study than 
youth. I felt that with such a woman directness 
might be more of a surprise than subtlety. 

“I suppose you know that Senor Barrios is very 
seriously ill?” I ventured, in answer to her inquiring 
gaze that played from my card to my face. 

For a fleeting instant she looked startled. Yet 
she betrayed nothing as to ^whether it was fear or 
surprise. 

“I have called his office several times,’ ’ she re- 
plied, “but no one answered. Even Senor Sandoval 
was not there.” 

I felt that she was countering as cleverly as I 
might lead. “Then you know Mr. Sandoval also?” 
I asked, adding, “and Mr. Page?” 

“I have known SefxOr Barrios a long time in Cuba,” 
she answered, “and the others, too — here.” 

There was something evasive about her answers. 
She was trying to say neither too much nor too 
little. She left one in doubt whether she was trying 
to shield herself or to involve another. Though we 
chatted several minutes, I could gain nothing that 
would lead me to judge how intimately she knew 
Barrios. Except that she knew Sandoval and Page, 
her conversation might have been a replica of the 
letters we had discovered. Even when she hinted 
170 


THE LOVE METER 


politely, but finally, that the talk was over she left, 
me in doubt even whether she was an adventuress v 
The woman was an enigma. Had revenge or jeah 
ousy brought her to New York, or was she merely a 
tool in the hands of another? 

I was not ready to return to Kennedy merely 
with another unanswered question, and I deter- 
mined to stop again at the hotel where Barrios and 
his sister lived, in the hope of picking up something 
there. 

The clerk at the desk told me that no one had 
called since we had been there, adding: “Except 
the tall gentleman, who came back. I think Senorita 
Barrios came down and met him in the tea-room.” 

Wondering whether it was Page or Sandoval the 
clerk meant, I sauntered down the corridor past the 
door of the tea-room. It was Page with whom 
Anitra was talking. There was no way in which I 
could hear what was said, although Page was very 
earnest and Anitra showed plainly that she was 
anxious to return to the sick-room up-stairs. 

As I watched, I took good care that I should not 
be seen. It was well that I did, for once when I 
looked about I saw that some one else in another 
doorway was watching them, too, so intently that 
he did not see me. It was Sandoval. Jealousy of 
Page was written in every line of his face. 

Studying the three, while I could not escape the 
rivalry of the two men, I was unable to see now or 
recollect anything that had happened which would 
convey even an inkling of her feelings toward them. 
Yet I was convinced that that way lay a problem 
quite as important as relations between the other 
171 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


triangle of Eulalie, Teresa, and Barrios. I was not 
psychologist enough to deal with either triangle. 
There was something that distinctly called for the 
higher mathematics of Kennedy. 

Determined not to return to him entirely empty- 
mouthed, I thought it would be a good opportunity 
to see Eulalie alone, and hurried to the elevator, 
which whisked me up to the Barrios apartment. . 

Doctor Scott had not left his patient, though he 
seemed to realize that Eulalie was a most efficient 
nurse. 

“No change,” whispered the doctor, “except that 
he is reaching a crisis.” 

Interested as I was in the patient, it had been for 
the purpose of seeing Eulalie that I had come, and I 
was glad when Doctor Scott left us a moment. 

“Has Mr. Kennedy found out anything yet?” 
she asked, in a tremulous whisper. 

“I think he is on the right track now,” I en- 
couraged. “Has anything happened here? Remem- 
ber — it is quite as important that you should tell 
him all as it is for him to tell you.” 

She looked at me a moment, then drew from a fold 
of her waist a yellow paper. It was a telegram. I 
took it and read: 

Beware of Teresa de Leon, Hotel Pan-America. 

A Friend. 

“You know her?” I asked, folding the telegram, 
but not returning it. 

Eulalie looked at me frankly and shook her head. 
“I have no idea who she is.” 

“Or of who sent the telegram?” 

172 


THE LOVE METER 


“None at all.” 

“When did you receive it?” 

“Only a few minutes ago.” 

Here was another mystery. Who had sent the 
anonymous telegram to Eulalie so soon after it had 
been evident that Kennedy had entered the case? 
What was its purpose? 

“I may keep this?” I asked, indicating the tele- 
gram. 

“I was about to send it to Professor Kennedy,” 
she replied. “Oh, I hope he will find something. 
Won’t you go to him and tell him to hurry?” 

I needed no urging, not only for her sake, but also 
because I did not wish to be seen or to have the 
receipt of the telegram by Kennedy known so soon. 

In the hotel I stopped only long enough to see that 
Anitra was now hurrying toward the elevator, eager 
to get back to her brother and oblivious to every 
one around. What had become of Page and the 
sinister watcher whom he had not seen I did not 
know, nor did I have time to find out. 

A few moments later I rejoined Kennedy at the 
laboratory. He was still immersed in work, and, 
scarcely stopping, nodded to me to tell what I had 
discovered. He listened with interest until I came 
to the receipt of the anonymous telegram. 

“Did you get it?” he asked,- eagerly. 

He almost seized it from my hands as I pulled it 
out of my pocket and studied it intently. 

“Strange,” he muttered. “Any of them might 
have sent it.” 

“Have you discovered anything?” I asked, for I 
had been watching him, consumed by curiosity, as I 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


told my story. “Do you know yet how the thing 
was done?” 

“I think I do,” he replied, abstractedly. 

“How was it?” I prompted, for his mind was now 
on the telegram. 

“A poison-gas pistol,” he resumed, coming back 
to the wx>rk he had just been doing. “Instead of 
bullets, this pistol used cartridges charged with some 
deadly powder. It might have been something like 
the anesthetic pistol devised by the police authori- 
ties in Paris some years ago when the motor bandits 
were operating.” 

“But who could have used it?” I asked. 

Kennedy did not answer directly. Either he was 
not quite sure yet or did not feel that the time was 
ripe to hazard a theory. ‘ ‘ In this case, ’ ’ he continued, 
after a moment’s thought, “I shouldn’t be surprised 
if even the wielder of the pistol probably wore a 
mask, doubly effective, for disguise and to protect 
the wielder from the fumes that were to overcome 
the victim.” 

“You have no idea who it was?” I reiterated. 

Before Kennedy could answer there came a violent 
ring at the laboratory bell, and I hurried to the door. 
It was one of the bell-boys from the hotel where the 
Barrioses had their apartment, with a message for 
Kennedy. 

Craig tore it open and read it hurriedly. “From’ 
Doctor Scott,” he said, briefly, in answer to my 
anxious query. “Barrios is dead.” 

Even though I had been prepared for the news 
by my last visit, death came as a shock, as it always 
does. I had felt all along that Kennedy had been 
174 


THE LOVE METER 


called in too late to do anything to save Barrios, but 
I had been hoping against hope. But I knew that 
it was not too late to catch the criminal who had 
done the dastardly, heartless deed. A few hours 
and perhaps all clues might have been covered up. 
But there is always something that goes wrong with 
crime, always some point where murder cannot be 
covered up. I think if people could only be got to 
realize it, as my experience both on the Star and 
with Kennedy have impressed it on me, murder 
would become a lost art. 

Without another word Kennedy seized his hat 
and together we hurried to the hotel. 

We found Anitra. crying softly to herself, while 
near her sat Eulalie, tearless, stunned by the blow, 
broken-hearted. In the realization of the tragedy 
everything had been forgotten, even the mysterious 
anonymous telegram signed, Judas-like, “A Friend.” 

Sandoval, we learned, had been there when the 
end came, and had now gone out to make what 
arrangements were necessary. I had nothing against 
the man, but I could not help feeling that, now that 
the business was all Anitra’ s, might he not be the 
one to profit most by the death? The fact was that 
Kennedy had expressed so little opinion on the case 
. so far that I might be pardoned for suspecting any 
one — even Teresa de Leon, who must have seen 
Jose slipping away from her in spite of her pursuit, 
whatever actuated it. 

It was while I was in the midst of these fruitless 
speculations that Doctor Scott beckoned us outside, 
and we withdrew quietly. 

“I don’t know that there is anything more that 
i75 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


I can do,” he remarked, “but I promised Senor 
Sandoval that I would stay here until he came back. 
He begged me to, seems scarcely to know how to do 
enough to comfort his sister and Senorita Barrios.” 

I listened to the doctor keenly. Was it possible 
that Sandoval had one of those Jekyll-Hyde natures 
which seem to be so common in some of us? Had 
his better nature yielded to his worse? To my 
mind that has often been an explanation of crime, 
never an adequate defense. 

Kennedy was about to say something when the 
elevator door down the hall opened. I expected that 
it was Sandoval returning, but it was Burton Page. 

“They told me you were here,” he said, greeting 
us. “I have been looking all over for you, down at 
your laboratory and at your apartment. Would you 
mind stepping down around the bend in the hall?” 

We excused ourselves from Doctor Scott, wonder- 
ing what Page had to reveal. 

“I knew Sandoval had not returned,” he began 
as soon as we were out of ear-shot of the doctor, 
“and I don’t want to see him — again — not after 
what happened this afternoon. The man is crazy.” 
We had reached an alcove and sank down into a soft 
settee. 

“Why, what was that?” I asked, recalling the 
look of hate on the man’s face as he had watched 
Page talking to Anitra in the tea-room. 

“I’m giving you this for what it may be worth,” 
began Page, turning from me to Kennedy. “Down 
in the lobby this afternoon, after you had been gone 
some time, I happened to run into Sandoval. He 
almost seized hold of me. ‘You have been at the 
176 


THE LOVE METER 


office,’ he said. ‘You’ve been rummaging around 
there.’ Well, I denied it flatly. ‘Who took those 
letters?’ he shot back at me. All I could do was to 
look at him. ‘I don’t know about any letters. What 
letters?’ I asked. Oh, he’s a queer fellow all right. 
I thought he was going to kill me by the black look 
he gave me. He cooled down a bit, but I didn’t wait 
for any apology. The best thing to do with these 
hot-headed people is to cut out and let them alone.” 

“How do you account for his strange actions?” 
asked Kennedy. “Have you ever heard anything 
more that he did?” 

Page shrugged his shoulders as if in doubt whether 
to say anything, then decided quickly. “The other 
day I heard Barrios and Sandoval in the office. 
They were quite excited. Barrios was talking 
loudly. I didn’t know at first what it was all about. 
But I soon found out. Sandoval had gone to him, 
as the head of the family, following their custom, I 
believe, to ask whether he might seek to win Anitra.” 

“Have you ever heard of Teresa de Leon?” in- 
terrupted Kennedy suddenly. 

Page looked at him and hesitated. “There’s 
some scandal, there, I’m afraid,” he nodded, com- 
bining his answers. “I heard Sandoval say some- 
thing about her to Barrios that day — warn him 
.against something. That was when the argument 
was heated. It seemed to make Barrios angry. 
Sandoval said something about Barrios refusing to 
let him court Anitra while at the same time Barrios 
was engaged to Eplalie. Barrios retorted that the 
cases were different. He said he had decided that 
Anitra was going to marry an American millionaire.” 

177 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

There could be no doubt about how Page himself 
interpreted the remark. It was evident that he took 
it to mean himself. 

4 ‘Sandoval had warned against this De Leon?” 
asked Kennedy, evidently having in mind the 
anonymous telegram. 

“Something — I don’t know what it was all about,” 
returned Page, then added, in a burst of confidence: 
“I never heard of the lady until she came to New 
York and introduced herself to me. For a time she 
was interesting. But I’m too old for that sort of 
thing. Besides, she always impressed me as though 
she had some ulterior motive, as though she was 
trying to get at something through me. I cut it 
all out.” 

Kennedy nodded, but for a moment said nothing. 

“I think I’ll be getting out,” remarked Page, with 
a half smile. “I don’t want a knife in the back. 
I thought you ought to know all this, though. And 
if I hear anything else I’ll let you know.” 

Kennedy thanked him and together we rode down 
in the next elevator, parting with Page at the hotel 
entrance. 

It was still early in the evening, and Kennedy had 
no intention now of wasting a moment. He beck- 
oned for a cab and directed the man to drive im- 
mediately to the Pan-America. 

This time Teresa de Leon was plainly prepared for 
a visit, though I am not sure that she was prepared 
to receive two visitors. 

“I believe you were acquainted with Sehor 
Barrios, who died to-night?” opened Kennedy, after 
I had introduced him. 


178 


THE LOVE METER 


“He was acquainted with me,” she corrected, with 
a purr in her voice that suggested claws. 

“You were not married to him,” shot out Kennedy; 
then before she could reply, “nor even engaged.” 

“He had known me a long time. We were inti- 
mate — ” 

“Friends,” interrupted Kennedy, leaving no doubt 
as to the meaning of his emphasis. 

She colored. It was evident that, at least to her, 
it was more than friendship. 

“Sehor Sandoval says,” romanced Kennedy, in 
true detective style, “that you wrote — ” 

It was her turn to interrupt. “If Sehor Sandoval 
says anything against me, he tells what is not — the 
truth.” 

In spite of Kennedy’s grilling she was still mistress 
of herself. 

“You introduced yourself to Burton Page, and — ” 

“You had better remember your own proverb,” 
she retorted. “Don’t believe anything you hear 
and only half you see.” 

Kennedy snapped down the yellow telegram be- 
fore her. It was a dramatic moment. The woman 
did not flinch at the anonymous implication. Straight 
into Kennedy’s eyes she shot r a penetrating glance. 

“Watch both of them” she replied, shortly, then 
turned and deliberately swept out of the hotel 
parlor as though daring us to go as far as we cared. 

“I think we have started forces working for us,” 
remarked Kennedy, coolly consulting his watch. 
“For the present at least let us retire to the labora- 
tory. Some one will make a move. My game is to 
play one against the other — until the real one breaks.” 

v 179 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


We had scarcely switched on the lights and Ken- 
nedy was checking over the results he had obtained 
during his afternoon’s investigations, when the door 
was flung open and a man dashed in on us unex- 
pectedly. It was Sandoval, and as he advanced 
furiously at Kennedy I more than feared that 
Page’s idea was correct. 

“It was you, Kennedy,” he hissed, “who took 
those letters from Jose’s desk. It is you — or Page 
back of you — who are trying to connect me with that 
woman, De Leon. But let me tell you — ” 

A sharp click back of Sandoval caused him to cut 
short the remark and look about apprehensively. 
Kennedy’s finger, sliding along the edge of the labora- 
tory table, had merely found an electric button by 
which he could snap the lock on the door. 

“We are two to one,” returned Kennedy, non- 
chalantly. “That was nothing but the lock on the 
door closing. Mr. Jameson has a revolver in the top 
drawer of his desk over there. You will pardon me 
if I do a little telephoning — through the central 
office of the detective bureau? Some of our friends 
may not be overanxious to come here, and it may 
be necessary to compel their attendance.” 

Sandoval subsided into a sullen silence as Kennedy 
made arrangements to have Burton Page, Anitra, 
Eulalie, and Teresa de Leon hurried to us at once. 

There was nothing for me to do but watch Sando- 
val as Kennedy prepared a little instrument with a 
scale and dial upon which rested an indicator re- 
sembling a watch hand, something like the new 
horizontal clocks which have only one hand to 
register seconds, minutes, and hours. In them, like 
180 


THE LOVE METER 


a thermometer held sidewise, the hand moves along 
from zero to twenty-four. In this instrument a little 
needle did the same thing. Pairs of little wire-like 
strings ran to the instrument. 

Kennedy had finished adjusting another instru- 
; ment which was much like the saccharimeter, only 
more complicated, when the racing of an engine out- 
side announced the arrival of the party in one of the 
police department cars. 

Between us, Craig and I lost no time in disposing 
the visitors so that each was in possession of a pair 
of the wire-like strings, and then disdaining to explain 
why he had gathered them together so unceremo- 
niously, Kennedy turned and finished adjusting the 
other apparatus. 

“Most people regard light, so abundant, so nec- 
essary, so free as a matter of course,’ ’ he remarked, 
contemplatively. “Not one person in ten thousand 
ever thinks of its mysterious nature or ever attempts 
to investigate it. In fact, most of us are in utter 
darkness as to light.” 

He paused, tapped the machine and went on, 
“This is a polarimeter — a simple polariscope — a 
step beyond the saccharimeter,” he explained, with 
a nod at Sandoval. “It detects differences of struct- 
ure in substances not visible in ordinary light. 

4 4 Light is polarized in several ways — by reflection, 
by transmission, but most commonly through what 
I have here, a prism of calcite, or Iceland spar, 
commonly called a Nicol piism. Light fully polar- 
ized consists of vibrations transverse to the direc- 
tion of the ray, all in one plane. Ordinary light has 
transverse vibrations in all planes. Certain sub- 
13 181 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


stances, due to their molecular structure, are trans- 
parent to vibrations in one plane, but opaque to 
those at right angles. 

“Here we have,” he explained, tapping the parts 
in order, “a source of light, passing in through this 
aperture, here a Nicol polarizer, next a liquid to be 
examined in a glass-capped tube ; here on this other 
side an arrangement of quartz plates with rotary power 
which I will explain in a moment, next an analyzer, 
and finally the aperture for the eye of an observer.” 

Kennedy adjusted the glass tube containing the 
liquid which bore the substance scraped from the 
cartridge he had picked up in the office of Jose. 
“Look through the eyepiece, Walter,” he directed. 

The field appeared halved. He made an adjust- 
ment and at once the field of vision appeared wholly 
the same tint. When he removed the tube it was 
dark. 

“If a liquid has not what we call rotary power 
both halves of the double disk appear of the same 
tint,” he explained. “If it has rotary power, the 
halves appear of different tints and the degree of 
rotation is measured by the alteration of thickness 
of this double quartz plate necessary to counteract 
it. It is, as I told Mr. Jameson early to-day, a 
rather abstruse subject, this of polarized light. I 
shall not bore you with it, but I think you will see 
in a moment why it is necessary, perhaps why some 
one who knew thought it would never be used. 

“What I am getting at now is that some sub- 
stances with the same chemical formula rotate 
polarized light to the right, are dextro-rotary, as, for 
instance, what is known as dextrose. Others rotate 
182 


THE LOVE METER 


it to the left, are levo-rotary, as the substance called 
levose. Both of them are glucose. So there are 
substances which give the same chemical reactions 
which can only be distinguished by their being left 
or right rotary.” 

Craig took a bit of crystalline powder and dis- 
solved it in ether. Then he added some strong 
sulphuric acid. The liquid turned yellow, then 
slowly a bright scarlet. Beside the first he repeated 
the operation with another similar-looking powder, 
with the identical result. 

“Both of those,” he remarked, holding up the 
vials, “were samples of pure veratrine, but obtained 
from different sources.' You see the brilliant reac- 
tion — unmistakable. But it makes all the differ- 
ence in the world in this case what was the source 
of the veratrine. It may mean the guilt or innocence 
of one of you.” 

He paused, to let the significance of his remark 
sink in. “Veratrine,” he resumed, “is a form of 
hellebore, known to gardeners for its fatal effect 
on insects. There are white and green hellebore, 
Veratrum alba and Veratrum viride. It is the pure 
alkaloid, or rather one of them, that we have to 
deal with here — veratrine. 

“There are various sources of veratrine. For 
instance, there is the veratrine that may be derived 
from the sabadilla seeds which grow in the West 
Indies and Mexico. It is used, I am informed, by 
the Germans in their lachrymatory and asphyxiating 
bombs.” 

The mention of the West Indies brought, like a 
flash, to my mind Sandoval and Senorita de Leon. 
183 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Then, too,” continued Kennedy, “there is a 
plant out in our own Western country, of which you 
may have heard, known as the death camas, very 
fatal to cattle when they eat it. The active prin- 
ciple in this is also veratrine.” 

I began to see what Kennedy was driving at. If 
it were veratrine derived from death camas it would 
point toward Page. 

“Abderhalden, the great German physiological 
chemist, has discovered that substances that once 
get into the blood produce specific ferments. Not 
long ago, in a case, I showed it by the use of dialyz- 
ing membranes. But Abderhalden has found that 
the polariscope can show it also. And in this case 
only the polariscope can show what chemistry 
cannot show when we reach the point of testing 
Sehor Barrios’s blood — if that becomes necessary.” 

It was plain that Kennedy was confident. “There 
are other sources of drugs of the nature used in this 
case to asphyxiate and kill, but the active principle 
of all is veratrine. The point is, veratrine from what 
source? The sabadilla is dextro-rotary ; the death 
camas is levo-rotary. Which is it here?” 

As I tried to figure out the ramifications of the 
case, I could see that it was a cruel situation for one 
or the other of the girls. Was one of her lovers the 
murderer of Anitra’s brother? Or was her own 
brother the murderer of Eulalie’s lover? I looked 
at the faces before me, now tensely watching Ken- 
nedy, forgetful of the wire-like strings which they 
held in their hands. I studied Teresa de Leon 
intently for a while. She was still the enigma which 
she had been the first time I saw her. 

184 


THE LOVE METER 


Kennedy paused long enough to look through the 
eyepiece again as if to reassure himself finally that 
he was right. There was a tantalizing suspense as 
we waited for the verdict of science on this intensely 
human tragedy. Then he turned to the queer in- 
strument over which the needle-hand was moving. 

“ Though some scientists would call this merely a 
sensitive form of galvanometer,” he remarked, “it 
is, to me, more than that. It registers feelings, 
emotions. It has been registering your own every 
moment that I have been talking. 

“But most of all it registers the grand passion. 
I might even call it a love meter. Love might seem 
to be a subject which could not be investigated. 
But even love can be attributed to electrical forces, 
or, perhaps better, is expressed by the generation of 
an electric current, as though the attraction between 
men and women were the giving off of electrons or 
radiations of one to the other. I have seen this gal- 
vanometer stationary during the ordinary meeting 
of men and women, yet exhibit all sorts of strange 
vibrations when true lovers meet.” 

Not used to Kennedy’s peculiar methods, they 
were now on guard, ignorant of the fact that that 
alone was sufficient to corroborate unescapably any 
evidence they had already given of their feelings 
toward each other. 

Kennedy passed lightly over the torn and bleeding 
heart of Eulalie. But, much as he disliked to do so, 
he could not so quickly pass Anitra. In spite of her 
grief, I could see that she was striving to control 
herself. A quick blush suffused her face and her 
breath came and went faster. 

185 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“This record,” went on Kennedy, lowering his 
voice, “tells me that two men are in love with 
Anitra Barrios. I will not say which exhibits the 
deeper, truer passion. You shall see for yourself in 
a moment. But, more than that, it tells me which of 
the two she cares for most — a secret her heart would 
never permit her lips to disclose. Nor will I disclose 
it. 

“One of them, with supreme egotism, was so sure 
that he would win her heart that he plotted this 
murder of her brother so that she would have the 
whole estate to bring to him — a terrible price for a 
dowry. My love meter tells me, however, that 
Anitra has something to say about it yet. She 
does not love this man. 

“As for Teresa de Leon, it was jealousy that im- 
pelled her to follow Jose Barrios from Cuba to New 
York. The murderer, in his scheming, knew it, saw 
a chance to use her, to encourage her, perhaps throw 
suspicion on her, if necessary. When I came un- 
comfortably close to him he even sent an anonymous 
telegram that might point toward her. It was sent 
by the same person who stole in Barrios’s office and 
shot him with an asphyxiating pistol which dis- 
charged a fatal quantity of pure veratrine full at him. 
i “My love meter, in registering hidden emotions, 
supplements what the polarimeter tells me. It was 
the levo-rotary veratrine of the fatal death camas 
which you used, Page,” concluded Craig, as again 
the electric attachment clicked shut the lock on the 
laboratory door. 


VIII 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 

“'"FHAT’S the handwriting of a woman — a jeah 

A ous woman,” remarked Kennedy, handing to 
me a dainty note on plain paper which had come 
in the morning mail. 

I did not stop to study the writing, for the con- 
tents of the letter were moref ascinating than even 
Kennedy’s new science of graphology. 

You don’t know me [the note read], but I know of your work 
of scientific investigation. 

Let me inform you of something that ought to interest you. 

In the Forum Apartments you will find that there is some 
strange disease affecting the Wardlaw family. It is a queer 
disease of the nerves. One is dead. Others are dying. 

Look into it. 

A Friend. 

As I read it I asked myself vainly what it could 
mean. There was no direct accusation against any 
one, yet the implication was plain. A woman had 
been moved by one of the primal passions to betray — 
some one. 

I looked up from the note on the table at Craig. 
He was still studying the handwriting. 

“It’s that peculiar vertical, angular hand affected 
by many women,” he commented, half to himself. 
187 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


"Even at a glance you can see that it’s written 
hastily, as if under the stress of excitement and 
sudden resolution. You’ll notice how those capi- 
tals — ” The laboratory door opened, interrupting 
him. 

“Hello, Kennedy,” greeted Doctor Leslie, our 
friend, the coroner’s physician, who had recently 
been appointed Health Commissioner of the city. 

It was the first time we had seen him since the 
appointment and we hastened to congratulate him. 
He thanked us absently, and it was evident that 
there was something on his mind, some problem 
which, in his new office, he felt that he must solve if 
for no other purpose than to justify his reputation. 
Craig said nothing, preferring to let the commissioner 
come to the point in his own way. 

“Do you know, Kennedy,” he said, at length, 
turning in his chair and facing us, “I believe we have 
found one of the strangest cases in the history of the 
department.” 

The commissioner paused, then went on, quickly, 
‘ ‘ It looks as if it were nothing less than an epidemic 
of beriberi — not on a ship coming into port as so 
often happens, but actually in the heart of the city.” 

“Beriberi — in New York?” queried Craig, in- 
’ credulously. 

“It looks like it,” reiterated Leslie, “in the family 
of a Doctor Wardlaw, up-town here, in the Forum — ” 

Kennedy had already shoved over the letter he 
had just received. Leslie did not finish the sentence, 
but read the note in amazement. 

“What are the symptoms?” inquired Craig. 
“What makes you think it is beriberi, of all things?” 

188 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


‘‘Because they show the symptoms of beriberi,” 
persisted Leslie, doggedly. “You know what they 
are like. If you care to go into the matter I think I 
can convince you.” 

The commissioner was still holding the letter and 
gazing, puzzled, from it to us. It seemed as if he 
regarded it merely as confirming his own suspicions 
that something was wrong, even though it shed no 
real light on the matter. 

‘ ‘ How did you first hear of it ?” prompted Kennedy. 

Leslie answered frankly. “It came to the atten- 
tion of the department as the result of a reform I 
have inaugurated. When I went in office I found 
that many of the death certificates were faulty, and 
in the course of our investigations we ran across one 
that seemed to be most vaguely worded. I don’t 
know yet whether it was ignorance — or something 
worse. But it started an inquiry. I can’t say that 
I’m thoroughly satisfied with the amended certificate 
of the physician who attended Mrs. Marbury, the 
mother of Doctor Wardlaw’s wife, who died about a 
week ago — Doctor Aitken.” 

“Then Wardlaw didn’t attend her himself?” 
asked Kennedy. 

“Oh no. He couldn’t, under the circumstances, 
as I’ll show you presently, aside from the medical 
ethics of the case. Aitken was the family physician 
of the Marburys.” 

Kennedy glanced at the note. “One is dead. 
Others are dying,” he read. “Who are the others? 
Who else is stricken?” 

“VvHiy,” continued Leslie, eager to unburden his 
story, “Wardlaw himself has the marks of a nervous 
189 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


affection as plainly as the eye can see it. You know 
what it is in this disease, as though the nerves were 
wasting away. But he doesn’t seem half as badly 
affected as his wife. They tell me Maude Marbury 
was quite a beauty once, and photographs I have 
seen prove it. She’s a wreck now. And, of course, 
the old lady must have been the most seriously 
affected of them all.” 

“Who else is there in the household?” inquired 
Kennedy, growing more and more interested. 

“Well,” answered Leslie, slowly, “they’ve had a 
nurse for some time, Natalie Langdale. Apparently 
she has escaped.” 

“Any servants?” 

“Some by the day; only one regularly — a Japan- 
ese, Kato. He goes home at night, too. There’s no 
evidence of the disease having affected him.” 

I caught Leslie’s eye as he gave the last informa- 
tion. Though I did not know much about beriberi, 
I had read of it, and knew that it was especially 
prevalent in the Orient. I did not know what im- 
portance to attach to Kato and his going home at 
night. 

“Have you done any investigating yourself?” 
asked Kennedy. 

Leslie hesitated a moment, as though deprecating 
his own efforts in that line, though when he spoke I 
could see no reason why he should, except that it had 
so often happened that Kennedy had seen the ob- 
vious which was hidden from most of those who 
consulted him. 

“Yes,” he replied, “I thought perhaps there might 
be some motive back of it all which I might discover. 

190 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


Possibly it was old Mrs. Marbury’s fortune — not a 
large one, but substantial. So it occurred to me that 
the will might show it. I have been to the surrogate. ’ * 

“And?” prompted Kennedy, approvingly. 

“Mrs. Marbury’s will has already been offered for 
probate. It directs, among other things, that twenty- 
five thousand dollars be given by her daughter, to 
whom she leaves the bulk of her fortune, to Doctor 
Aitken, who had been Mr. Marbury’s physician and 
her own.” 

Leslie looked at us significantly, but Kennedy 
made no comment. 

“Would you like to go up there and see them?” 
urged the commissioner, anxious to get Craig’s final 
word on whether he would co-operate in the affair. 

“I certainly should,” returned Kennedy, heartily, 
folding up the letter which had first attracted his 
interest. ‘ ‘ It looks as if there were more to this 
thing than a mere disease, however unusual.” 

Doctor Leslie could not conceal his satisfaction, 
and without delaying a moment more than was 
necessary hurried us out into one of the department 
cars, which he had left waiting outside, and directed 
the driver to take us to the Forum Apartments, one 
of the newest and most fashionable on the Drive. 

Miss Langdale met us at the door and admitted 
us into the apartment. She was a striking type of 
trained nurse, one of those who seem bubbling over 
with health and vivacity. She seemed solicitous of 
her patients and reluctant to have them disturbed, 
yet apparently not daring to refuse to admit Doctor 
Leslie. There was nothing in her solicitude, how- 
ever, that one could take exception to. 

191 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

Miss Langdale conducted us softly down a hall- 
way through the middle of the apartment, and I 
noted quickly how it was laid out. On one side we 
passed a handsomely furnished parlor and dining- 
room, opposite which were the kitchen and butler’s 
pantry, and, farther along, a bedroom and the bath. 
On down the hall, on the right, was Doctor Ward- 
law’s study, or rather den, for it w r as more of a library 
than an office. 

The nurse led the way, and we entered. Through 
the windows one caught a beautiful vista of the 
Drive, the river, and the Jersey shore. I gazed about 
curiously. Around the room there were bookcases 
and cabinets, a desk, some easy-chairs, and in the 
corner a table on which were some of Wardlaw’s 
paraphernalia, for, although he was not a practising 
physician, he still specialized in his favorite branches 
of eye and ear surgery. 

Miss Langdale left us a moment, with a hasty 
excuse that she must prepare Mrs. Wardlaw for the 
unexpected visit. The preparation, however, did 
not take long, for a moment later Maude Wardlaw 
entered, supported by her nurse. 

Her lips moved mechanically as she saw us, but 
we could not hear what she said. As she walked, I 
could see that she had a peculiar gait, as though 
she were always lifting her feet over small obstacles. 
Her eyes, too, as she looked at us, had a strange 
squint, and now and then the muscles of her face 
twitched. She glanced from Leslie to Kennedy 
inquiringly, as Leslie introduced us, implying that 
we were from his office, then dropped into the easy- 
chair. Her breathing seemed to be labored and her 
192 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


heart action feeble, as the nurse propped her up 
comfortably. 

As Mrs. War dlaw’s hand rested on the arm of the 
chair I saw that there was a peculiar flexion of her 
wrist which reminded me of the so-called “wrist- 
drop ” of which I had heard. It was almost as if the 
muscles of her hands and arms, feet and legs, were 
weak and wasting. Once she had been beautiful, 
and even now, although she seemed to be a wreck of 
her former self, she had a sort of ethereal beauty that 
was very touching. 

“Doctor is out — just now,” she hesitated, in a 
tone that hinted at the loss of her voice. She turned 
appealingly to Miss Langdale. “Oh,” she mur- 
mured, “I feel so badly this morning — as if pins 
and needles were sticking in me — vague pains in all 
my limbs — ” 

Her voice sank to a whisper and only her lips 
moved feebly. One had only to see her to feel sym- 
pathy. It seemed almost cruel to intrude under the 
circumstances, yet it was absolutely necessary if 
Craig were to accomplish anything. Maude Ward- 
law, however, did not seem to comprehend the sig- 
nificance of our presence, and I wondered how Ken- 
nedy would proceed. 

“I should like to see your Japanese servant, 
Kato,” he began, directly, somewhat to my surprise, 
addressing himself rather to Miss Langdale than to 
Mrs. Wardlaw. 

The nurse nodded and left the room without a 
word, as though appreciating the anomalous position 
in which she was placed as temporary mistress of the 
household. 


i93 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


A few moments later Kato entered. He was a 
typical specimen of the suave Oriental, and I eyed 
him keenly, for to me East was East and West was 
West, and I was frankly suspicious, especially as I 
saw no reason to be otherwise in Kennedy’s manner. 
I waited eagerly to see what Craig would do. 

“Sit here,” directed Kennedy, indicating a 
straight -backed chair, on which the Japanese obe- 
diently sat. “Now cross your knees.” 

As Kato complied, Kennedy quickly brought his 
hand, held flat and palm upward, sharply against 
the Jap’s knee just below the kneecap. There was 
a quick reflex jerk of the leg below the knee in 
response. 

“Quite natural,” Kennedy whispered, turning to 
Leslie, who nodded. 

He dismissed Kato without further questioning, 
having had an opportunity to observe whether he 
showed any of the symptoms that had appeared in 
the rest of the family. Craig and the Health Com- 
missioner exchanged a few words under their breath, 
then Craig crossed the room to Mrs. Wardlaw. The 
entrance of Kato had roused her momentarily and 
she had been watching what was going on. 

“It is a simple test,” explained Kennedy, indicat- 
ing to Miss Langdale that he wished to repeat it on 
her patient. 

Mrs. Wardlaw’s knee showed no reflex! As he 
turned to us, we could see that Kennedy’s face was 
lined deeply with thought, and he paced up and down 
the room once or twice, considering what he had 
observed. 

I could see that even this simple interview had 
i94 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


greatly fatigued Mrs. Wardlaw. Miss Langdale 
said nothing, but it was plainly evident that she 
objected strongly to the strain on her patient’s 
strength. 

“That will be sufficient,” nodded Craig, noticing 
the nurse. ‘ ‘ Thank you very much. I think you had 
better let Mrs. Wardlaw rest in her own room.” 

On the nurse’s arm Mrs. Wardlaw withdrew and 
I looked inquiringly from Kennedy to Doctor Leslie. 
What was it that had made this beautiful woman 
such a wreck? It seemed almost as though the hand 
of fate had stretched out against one who had all to 
make her happy— wealth, youth, a beautiful home — • 
for the sullen purpose of taking away what had been 
bestowed so bounteously. 

“It is polyneuritis, all right, Leslie,” Craig agreed, 
the moment we were alone. 

“I think so,” coincided Leslie, with a nod. “It’s 
the cause I can’t get at. Is it polyneuritis of beri- 
beri — or something else?” Kennedy did not reply 
immediately. 

“Then there are other causes?” I inquired of 
Leslie. 

“Alcohol,” he returned, briefly. “I don’t think 
that figures in this instance. At least I’ve seen no 
evidence.” 

“Perhaps some drug?” I hazarded at a venture. 

Leslie shrugged. 

“How about the food?” inquired Craig. “Have 
you made any attempt to examine it?” 

“I have,” replied the commissioner. “When I 
came up here first I thought of that. I took samples 
of all the food that I could find in the ice-box, the 
I 95 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


kitchen, and the butler’s pantry. I have the whole 
thing, labeled, and I have already started to test 
them out. I’ll show you what I have done when we 
go down to the department laboratory.” 

Kennedy had been examining the books in the 
bookcase and. now pulled out a medical dictionary. 
It opened readily to the heading, “Polyneuritis — 
multiple neuritis.” 

I bent over and read with him. In the disease, it 
seemed, the nerve fibers themselves in the small 
nerves broke down and the affection was motor, 
sensory, vasomotor, or endemic. All the symptoms 
described seemed to fit what I had observed in Mrs. 
Wardlaw. 

“Invariably,” the article went on, “it is the result 
of some toxic substance circulating in the blood. 
There is a polyneuritis psychosis, known as Korsa- 
koff’s syndrome, characterized by disturbances of 
the memory of recent events and false reminiscences, 
the patient being restless and disorientated.” 

I ran my finger down the page until I came to the 
causes. There were alcohol, lead, arsenic, bisul- 
phide of carbon, diseases such as diabetes, diphtheria, 
typhoid, and finally, much to my excitement, was 
enumerated beriberi, with the added information, 
“or, as the Japanese call it, kakke .” 

I placed my finger on the passage and was about 
to say something about my suspicions of Kato when 
we heard the sound of footsteps in the hall, and Craig 
snapped the book shut, returning it hastily to the 
bookcase. It was Miss Langdale who had made her 
patient comfortable in bed and now returned to us. 

“Who is this Kato?” inquired Craig, voicing what 
196 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 

was in my own mind. “What do you know about 
him?” 

“Just a young Japanese from the Mission down- 
town,” replied the nurse, directly. “I don’t suppose 
you know, but Mrs. Wardlaw used to be greatly 
interested in religious and social work among the 
Japanese and Chinese; would be yet, but,” she added, 
significantly, “she is not strong enough. They 
employed him before I came here, about a year ago, 
I think.” 

Kennedy nodded, and was about to ask another 
question, when there was a slight noise out in the 
hall. Thinking it might be Kato himself, I sprang 
to the door. 

Instead, I encountered a middle-aged man, who 
drew back in surprise at seeing me, a stranger. 

“Oh, good morning, Doctor Aitken!” greeted 
Miss Langdale, in quite the casual manner of a 
nurse accustomed to the daily visit at about this 
hour. 

As for Doctor Aitken, he glanced from Leslie, 
whom he knew, to Kennedy, whom he did not know, 
with a very surprised look on his face. In fact, I 
got the impression that after he had been admitted 
he had paused a moment in the hall to listen to the 
strange voices in the Wardlaw study. 

Leslie nodded to him and introduced us, without 
quite knowing what to say or do, any more than 
Doctor Aitken. 

“A most incomprehensible case,” ventured Aitken 
to us. “I can’t, for the life of me, make it out. ’ ’ The 
doctor showed his perplexity plainly, whether it was 
feigned or not. 

14 


197 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“I’m afraid she’s not quite so well as usual,” put 
in Miss Langdale, speaking to him, but in a manner 
that indicated that first of all she wished any blame 
for her patient’s condition to attach to us and not 
to herself. 

Doctor Aitken pursed up his lips, bowed excus- 
ingly to us, and turned down the hall, followed by 
the nurse. As they passed on to Mrs. Wardlaw’s 
room, I am sure they whispered about us. I was 
puzzled by Doctor Aitken. He seemed to be sincere, 
yet, under the circumstances, I felt that I must be 
suspicious of everybody and everything. 

Alone again for a moment, Kennedy turned his 
attention to the furniture of the room, and finally 
paused before a writing-desk in the corner. He 
tried it. It was not locked and he opened it. Quick- 
ly he ran through a pile of papers carefully laid 
under a paper-weight at the back. 

A suppressed exclamation from him called my 
attention to something that he had discovered. 
There lay two documents, evidently recently drawn 
up. As we looked over xne first, we saw that it was 
Doctor Wardlaw’s will, in which he had left every- 
thing to his wife, although he was not an especially 
wealthy man. The other was the will of Mrs. 
Wardlaw. 

We devoured it hastily. In substance it was 
identical with the first, except that at the end she 
had added two clauses. In the first she had done 
just as her mother had directed. Twenty-five 
thousand dollars had been left to Doctor Aitken. I 
glanced at Kennedy, but he was reading on, taking 
the second clause. I read also. Fifty thousaf^ 
198 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


dollars was given to endow the New York Japanese 
Mission. 

Immediately the thought of Kato and what Miss 
Langdale had just told us flashed through my mind. 

A second time we heard the nurse’s footsteps on 
the hardwood floor of the hall. Craig closed the 
desk softly. 

“Doctor Aitken is ready to go,” she announced. 
“Is there anything more you wish to ask?” 

Kennedy spoke a moment with the doctor as he 
passed out, but, aside from the information that 
Mrs. Wardlaw was, in his opinion, growing worse, 
the conversation added nothing to our meager store 
of information. 

“I suppose you attended Mrs. Marbury?” vent- 
ured Kennedy of Miss Langdale, after the doctor 
had gone. 

“Not all the time,” she admitted. “Before I 
came there was another nurse, a Miss Hackstaff.” 

“What was the matter? Wasn’t she competent?” 

Miss Langdale avoided the question, as though it 
were a breach of professional etiquette to cast reflec- 
tions on another nurse, although whether that was 
the real reason for her reticence did not appear. 
Craig seemed to make a mental note of the fact. 

“Have you seen anything — er — suspicious about 
this Kato?” put in Leslie, while Kennedy frowned 
at the interruption. 

Miss Langdale answered quickly, “Nothing.” 

“Doctor Aitken has never expressed any sus- 
picion?” pursued Leslie. 

“Oh no,” she returned. “I think I would have 
known it if he had any. No, I’ve never heard him 
199 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


even hint at anything.” It was evident that she 
wished us to know that she was in the confidence of 
the doctor. 

“I think we’d better be going,” interrupted 
Kennedy, hastily, not apparently pleased to have 
Leslie break in in the investigation just at present. 

Miss Langdale accompanied us to the door, but 
before we reached it it was opened from the outside 
by a man who had once been and yet was handsome, 
although one could see that he had a certain appear- 
ance of having neglected himself. 

Leslie nodded and introduced us. It was Doctor 
Wardlaw. 

As I studied his face I could see that, as Leslie 
had already told us, it plainly bore the stigma of 
nervousness. 

“Has Doctor Aitken been here?” he inquired, 
quickly, of the nurse. Then, scarcely waiting for 
her even to nod, he added: “What did he say? Is 
Mrs. Wardlaw any better?” 

Miss Langdale seemed to be endeavoring to make 
as optimistic a report as the truth permitted, but I 
fancied Wardlaw read between the lines. As they 
talked it was evident that there was a sort of re- 
straint between them. I wondered whether Ward- 
law might not have some lurking suspicion against 
Aitken, or some one else. If he had, even in his 
nervousness he did not betray it. 

“I can’t tell you how worried I am,” he murmured, 
almost to himself. “What can this thing be?” 

He turned to us, and, although he had just been 
introduced, I am sure that our presence seemed to 
surprise him, for he went on talking to himself, 
200 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


“Oh yes — let me see — oh yes, friends of Doctor — 
er — Leslie.” 

I had been studying him and trying to recall whau 
I had just read of beriberi and polyneuritis. There 
flashed over my mind the recollection of what had 
been called Korsakoff’s syndrome, in which one of 
the mental disturbances was the memory of recent 
events. Did not this, I asked myself, indicate 
plainly enough that Leslie might be right in his 
suspicions of beriberi ? It was all the more apparent 
a moment later when, turning to Miss Langdale, 
Wardlaw seemed almost instantly to forget our 
presence again. At any rate, his anxiety was easy 
to see. 

After a few minutes’ chat during which Craig 
observed Wardlaw’s symptoms, too, we excused 
ourselves, and the Health Commissioner undertook 
to conduct us to his office to show us what he had 
done so far. As for me, I could not get Miss Lang- 
dale out of my mind, and especially the mysterious 
letter to Kennedy. What of it and what of its 
secret sender? 

None of us said much until, half an hour later, 
in the department laboratory, Leslie began to recapit- 
ulate what he had already done in the case. 

“You asked whether I had examined the food,” 
he remarked, pausing in a corner before several cages 
in which were a number of pigeons, separated and 
carefully tagged. With a wave of his hand at one 
group of cages he continued : ‘ ‘ These fellows I have 
been feeding exclusively on samples of the various 
foods which I took from the Wardlaw family when 
I first went up there. Here, too, are charts showing 
201 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


what I have observed up to date. Over there are 
the ‘controls’ — pigeons from the same group which 
have been fed regularly on the usual diet so that I 
can check my tests.” 

Kennedy fell to examining the pigeons carefully 
as well as the charts and records of feeding and 
results. None of the birds fed on what had been 
taken from the apartment looked well, though some 
were worse than others. 

“I want you to observe this fellow,” pointed out 
Leslie at last, singling out one cage. The pigeon in 
it was a pathetic figure. His eyes seemed dull and 
glazed. He paid little or no attention to us; even 
his food and water did not seem to interest him. 
Instead of strutting about, he seemed to be posi- 
tively wabbly on his feet. Kennedy examined this 
one longer and more carefully than any of the rest. 

“There are certainly all the symptoms of beri- 
beri, or rather, polyneuritis, in pigeons, with that 
bird,” admitted Craig, finally, looking up at Leslie. 

The commissioner seemed to be gratified. “You 
know,” he remarked, “beriberi itself is a common 
disease in the Orient. There has been a good deal 
of study of it and the cause is now known to be the 
lack of something in the food, which in the Orient 
is mostly rice. Polishing the rice, which removes 
part of the outer coat, also takes away something 
that is necessary for life, which scientists now call 
‘vitamines.’ ” 

“I may take some of these samples to study my- 
self?” interrupted Kennedy, as though the story of 
vitamines was an old one to him. 

“By all means,” agreed Leslie. 

202 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


Craig selected what he wanted, keeping each 
separate and marked, and excused himself, saying 
that he had some investigations of his own that he 
wished to make and would let Leslie know the result 
as soon as he discovered anything. 

Kennedy did not go back directly to the labora- 
tory, however. Instead, he went up-town and, to 
my surprise, stopped at one of the large breweries. 
What it was that he was after I could not imagine, 
but, after a conference with the manager, he obtained 
several quarts of brewer’s yeast, which he had sent 
directly down to the laboratory. 

Impatient though I was at this seeming neglect 
of the principal figures in the case, I knew, never- 
theless, that Kennedy had already schemed out his 
campaign and that whatever it was he had in mind 
was of first importance. 

Back at last in his own laboratory, Craig set to 
work on the brewer’s yeast, deriving something from 
it by the plentiful use of a liquid labeled “Lloyd’s 
reagent,” a solution of hydrous aluminum silicate. 

After working for some time, I saw that he had 
obtained a solid which he pressed into the form 
of little whitish tablets. He had by no means 
finished, but, noticing my impatience, he placed 
the three or four tablets in a little box and handed 
them to me. 

“You might take these over to Leslie in the de- 
partment laboratory, Walter,” he directed. “Tell 
him to feed them to that wabbly-looking pigeon over 
there — and let me know the moment he observes 
any effect.” 

Glad of the chance to occupy myself, I hastened 
203 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


on the errand, and even presided over the first feed- 
ing of the bird. 

When I returned I found that Kennedy had 
finished his work with the brewer’s yeast and was 
now devoting himself to the study of the various 
samples of food which he had obtained from Leslie. 

He was just finishing a test of the baking-powder 
when I entered, and his face showed plainly that he 
was puzzled by something that he had discovered. 

“What is it?” I asked. “Have you found out 
anything?” 

“This seems to be almost plain sodium carbonate,” 
he replied, mechanically. 

“And that indicates?” I prompted. 

“Perhaps nothing, in itself,” he went on, less 
abstractedly. “But the use of sodium carbonate 
and other things which I have discovered in other 
samples disengages carbon dioxide at the tempera- 
ture of baking and cooking. If you’ll look in that 
public-health report on my desk you’ll see how the 
latest investigations have shown that bicarbonate 
of soda and a whole list of other things which liberate 
carbon dioxide destroy the vitamines Leslie was 
talking about. In other words, taken altogether 
I should almost say there was evidence that a con- 
certed effort was being made to affect the food — a 
result analogous to that of using polished rice as a 
staple diet — and producing beriberi, or, perhaps 
more accurately, polyneuritis. I can be sure of 
nothing yet, but — it’s worth following up.” 

“Then you think Kato — ” 

“Not too fast,” cautioned Craig. “Remember, 
others had access to the kitchen, too.” 

204 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 

In spite of his hesitancy, I could think only of the 
two paragraphs we had read in Mrs. Wardlaw’s will, 
and especially of the last. Might not Kato have 
been forced or enticed into a scheme that promised 
a safe return and practically no chance of discovery? 
What gruesome mystery had been unveiled by the 
anonymous letter which had first excited our 
curiosity ? 

It was late in the afternoon that Commissioner 
Leslie called us up, much excited, to inform us that 
the drooping pigeon was already pecking at food 
and beginning to show some interest in life. Ken- 
nedy seemed greatly gratified as he hung up the 
receiver. 

“Almost dinner-time,” he commented, with a 
glance at his watch. “I think well make another 
hurried visit to the Wardlaw apartment.” 

We had no trouble getting in, although as out- 
siders we were more tolerated than welcome. Our 
excuse was that Kennedy had some more questions 
which we wished to ask Miss Langdale. 

While we waited for her we sat, not in the study, 
but in the parlor. The folding-doors into the dining- 
room were closed, but across the hall we could tell 
by the sound when Kato was in the kitchen and when 
he crossed the hall. 

Once I heard him in the dining-room. Before I 
knew it Kennedy had hastily tiptoed across the 
hall and into the kitchen. He was gone only a couple 
of minutes, but it was long enough to place in the 
food that was being prepared, and in some unpre- 
pared, either the tablets he had made or a powder 
he had derived from them crushed up. When he 
205 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


returned I saw from his manner that the real pur- 
pose of the visit had been accomplished, although 
when Miss Langdale appeared he went through the 
form of questioning her, mostly on Mrs. Marbury’s 
sickness and death. He did not learn anythin g that 
appeared to be important, but at least he covered 
up the reason for his visit. 

Outside the apartment, Kennedy paused a mo- 
ment. “There’s nothing to do now but await de- 
velopments,” he meditated. “Meanwhile, there 
is no use for us to double up our time together. I 
have decided to watch Kato to-night. Suppose you 
shadow Doctor Aitken. Perhaps we may get a line 
on something that way.” 

The plan seemed admirable to me. In fact, I had 
been longing for some action of the sort all the af- 
ternoon, while Kennedy had been engaged in the 
studies which he evidently deemed more important. 

Accordingly, after dinner, we separated, Kennedy 
going back to the Forum Apartments to wait until 
Kato left for the night, while I walked farther up 
the Drive to the address given in the directory as 
that of Doctor Aitken. 

It happened to be the time when the doctor had 
his office hours for patients, so that I was sure at 
least that he was at home when I took my station 
just down the street, carefully scrutinizing every one 
who entered and left his house. 

Nothing happened, however, until the end of the 
hour during which he received office calls. As I 
glanced down the street I was glad that I had taken 
an inconspicuous post, for I could see Miss Langdale 
approaching. She was not in her nurse’s uniform, 
206 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 

but seemed to be off duty for an hour or two, and I 
must confess she was a striking figure, even in that 
neighborhood which was noted for its pretty and 
daintily gowned girls. Almost before I knew it 
she had entered the English-basement entrance of 
Doctor Aitken’s. 

I thought rapidly. What could be the purpose of 
her visit? Above all, how was I, on the outside, to 
find out? I walked down past the house. But that 
did no good. In a quandary, I stopped. Hesitation 
would get me nothing. Suddenly an idea flashed 
through my mind. I turned in and rang the bell. 

“It’s past the doctor’s office hours,” informed a 
servant who opened the door. “He sees no one after 
hours.” 

“But,” I lied, “I have an appointment. Don’t 
disturb him. I can wait.” 

The waiting-room was empty, I had seen, and I 
was determined to get in at any cost. Reluctantly 
the servant admitted me. 

For several moments I sat quietly alone, fearful 
that the doctor might open the double doors of his 
office and discover me. But nothing happened and 
I grew bolder. Carefully I tiptoed to the door. It 
was of solid oak and practically impervious to sound. 
The doors fitted closely, too. Still, by applying my 
ear, I could make out the sound of voices on the 
other side. I strained my ears both to catch a word 
now and then and to be sure that I might hear the 
approach of anybody outside. 

Was Aitken suspiciously interested in the pretty 
nurse — or was she suspiciously interested in him? 

Suddenly their voices became a trifle more dis- 
207 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


tinct. “Then you think Doctor Wardlaw has it, 
too?” I heard her ask. I did not catch the exact 
reply, but it was in the affirmative. 

They were approaching the door. In a moment it 
would be opened. I waited to hear no more, but 
seized my hat and dashed for the entrance from the 
street just in time to escape observation. Miss 
Langdale came out shortly, the doctor accompany- 
ing her to the door, and I followed her back to the 
Forum. 

What I had heard only added to the puzzle. Why 
her anxiety to know whether Wardlaw himself was 
affected? Why Aitken’s solicitude in asserting that 
he was? Were they working together, or were 
they really opposed? Which might be using the 
other ? 

My queries still unanswered, I returned to Aitken’s 
and waited about some time, but nothing happened, 
and finally I went on to our own apartment. 

It was very late when Craig came in, but I was 
still awake and waiting for him. Before I could ask 
him a question he was drawing from me what I had 
observed, listening attentively. Evidently he con- 
sidered it of great importance, though no remark of 
his betrayed what interpretation he put on the 
episode. 

“Have you found anything?” I managed to ask, 
finally. 

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded, thoughtfully. “I 
shadowed Kato from the Forum. It must have been 
before Miss Langdale came out that he left. He 
lives down-town in a tenement-house. There’s 
something queer about that Jap.” 

208 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 

“I think there is,” I agreed. “I don’t like his 
looks.” 

“But it wasn’t he who interested me so much to- 
night,” Craig went on, ignoring my remark, “as a 
woman.” 

“A woman?” I queried, in surprise. “A Jap, 
too?” 

“No, a white woman, rather good-looking, too, 
with dark hair and eyes. She seemed to be waiting 
for him. Afterward I made inquiries. She has been 
seen about there before.” 

“Who was she?” I asked, fancying perhaps Miss 
Langdale had made another visit while she was out, 
although from the time it did not seem possible. 

“I followed her to her house. Her name is 
Hackstaff — ” 

“The first trained nurse!” I exclaimed. 

“Miss Hackstaff is an enigma,” confessed Ken- 
nedy. “At first I thought that perhaps she might 
be one of those women whom the Oriental type 
fascinated, ' that she and Kato might be plotting. 
Then I have considered that perhaps her visits to 
Kato may be merely to get information — that she 
may have an ax to grind. Both Kato and she will 
bear watching, and I have made arrangements to 
have it done. I’ve called on that young detective, 
Chase, whom I’ve often used for the routine work 
of shadowing. There’s nothing more that we can 
do now until to-morrow, so we might as well turn in.” 

Early the next day Kennedy was again at work, 
both in his own laboratory and in that of the Health 
Department, making further studies of the food and 
the effect it had on the pigeons, as well as observing 
209 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


what changes were produced by the white tablets he 
had extracted from the yeast. 

It was early in the forenoon when the buzzer on 
the laboratory door sounded and I opened the door 
to admit Chase in a high state of excitement. 

“What has happened?” asked Craig, eagerly. 

“Many things,” reported the young detective, 
breathlessly. “To begin with, I followed Miss 
Hackstaff from her apartment this morning. She 
seemed to be worked up over something — perhaps 
had had a sleepless night. As nearly as I could make 
out she was going about aimlessly. Finally, however, 
I found that she was getting into the neighborhood 
of Doctor Aitken and of the Forum. Well, when we 
got to the Forum she stopped and waited in front of 
it — oh, I should say almost half an hour. I couldn’t 
make out what it was she wanted, but at last I 
found out.” 

He paused a moment, then raced on, without 
urging. ‘ ‘ Miss Langdale came out — and you should 
have seen the Hackstaff woman go for her.” He 
drew in his breath sharply at the reminiscence. “I 
thought there was going to be a murder done — on 
Riverside Drive. Miss Langdale screamed and 
ran back into the apartment. There was a good deal 
of confusion. The hall-boys came to the rescue. In 
the excitement, I managed to slip into the elevator 
with her. No one seemed to think it strange then 
that an outsider should be interested. I went up 
with her — saw Wardlaw, as she poured out the 
story. He’s a queer one. Is he right ?” 

“Why?” asked Craig, indulgently. 

“He seems so nervous; things upset him so 
210 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


easily. Yet, after we had taken care of Miss Lang- 
dale and matters had quieted down, I thought I 
might get some idea of the cause of the fracas and 
asked him if he knew of any reason. Why, he looked 
at me kind of blankly, and I swear he acted as 
though he had almost forgotten it already. I tell 
you, he’s not right .” 

Remembering our own experience, I glanced sig- 
nificantly at Craig. “Korsakoff’s syndrome?” I 
queried, laconically. “Another example of a mind 
confused even on recent events?” 

Kennedy, however, was more interested in Chase. 
“What did Miss Hackstaff do?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. I missed her. When I got out 
again she was gone.” 

“Pick her up again,” directed Craig. “Perhaps 
you’ll get her at her place. And see, this time, if 
you can get what 1 asked you.” 

“I’ll try,” returned Chase, much pleased at the 
words of commendation which Craig added as he 
left us again. 

On what errand Chase had gone I could not guess, 
except that it had something to do with this strange 
woman who had so unexpectedly entered the case. 
Nor was Craig any more communicative. There 
were evidently many problems which only events 
could clear up even in his mind. Though he did not 
say anything, I knew that he was as impatient as I 
was, and as Leslie, too, who called up once or twice 
to learn whether he had discovered anything. There 
was nothing to do but wait. 

It was early in the afternoon that the telephone 
rang and I answered it. It was Chase calling Ken- 
211 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


nedy. I heard only half the conversation and there 
was not much of that, but I knew that something 
was about to happen. Craig hastily summoned a cab, 
then in rapid succession called up Doctor Aitken and 
Leslie, for whom we stopped as our driver shot us 
over to the Forum Apartments. 

There was no ceremony or unnecessary explana- 
tion about our presence, as Kennedy entered and 
directed Miss Langdale to bring her patients into 
the little office-study of Doctor Wardlaw. 

Miss Langdale obeyed reluctantly. When she 
returned I felt that it was appreciable that a change 
had taken place. Mrs. Wardlaw, at least, was im- 
proved. She was still ill, but she seemed to take a 
more lively interest in what was going on about her. 
As for Doctor Wardlaw, however, I could not see 
that there had been any improvement in him. His 
nervousness had not abated. Kato, whom Kennedy 
summoned at the same time, preserved his usual 
imperturbable exterior. Miss Langdale, in spite of 
the incident of the morning, was quite as solicitous 
as ever of her charges. 

™ We had not long to wait for Doctor Aitken. He 
arrived, inquiring anxiously what had happened, 
although Kennedy gave none of us any satisfaction 
immediately as to the cause of his quick action. 
Aitken fidgeted uneasily, glancing from Kennedy to 
Leslie, then to Miss Langdale, and back to Kennedy, 
without reading any explanation in the faces. I knew 
that Craig was secretly taking his time both for its 
effect on those present and to give Chase a chance. 

“Our poisons and our drugs,” he began, leisurely, 
at length, ‘ ‘ are in many instances the close relatives 
212 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


of harmless compounds that represent the inter- 
mediate steps in the daily process of metabolism. 
There is much that I might say about protein poi- 
sons. However, that is not exactly what I want to 
talk about — at least first.” 

He stopped to make sure that he had the atten- 
tion of us all. As a matter of fact, his manner was 
such that he attracted even the vagrant interest of 
the Wardlaws. 

“I do not know how much of his suspicions Com- 
missioner Leslie has communicated to you,” he 
resumed, “but I believe that you have all heard of 
the disease beriberi so common in the Far East and 
known to the Japanese as kakke. It is a form of 
polyneuritis and, as you doubtless know, is now 
known to be caused, at least in the Orient, by the 
removal of the pericarp in the polishing of rice. Our 
milling of flour is, in a minor degree, analogous. To 
be brief, the disease arises from the lack in diet of 
certain substances or bodies which modem scientists 
call vit amines. Small quantities of these vital prin- 
ciples are absolutely essential to normal growth and | m 
health and even to life itself. They are nitrogenous 
compounds and their absence gives rise to a class of 
serious disorders in which the muscles surrender their 
store of nitrogen first. The nerves seems to be the 
preferred creditors, so to speak. They are affected 
‘ only after the muscles begin to waste. It is an ab- 
struse subject and it is not necessary for me to go 
deeper into it now.” 

I controlled my own interest in order to watch 
those about me. Kato, for one, was listening atten- 
tively, I saw. 

15 


213 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“In my studies of the diet of this household,” 
continued Kennedy, “I have found that substances 
have been used in preparing food which kill vita- 
mines. In short, the food has been denatured. 
Valuable elements, necessary elements, have been 
taken away.” 

“I, sir, not always in kitchen, sir,” interrupted 
Kato, still deferential. “I not always know — ” 

With a peremptory wave of his hand Kennedy 
silenced the Jap. 

“It has long been a question,” he hurried on, 
“whether these vitamines are tangible bodies or just 
special arrangements of molecules. Recently govern- 
ment investigators have discovered that they are 
bodies that can be isolated by a special process from 
the filtrate of brewer’s yeast by Lloyd’s reagent. 
Five grams of this” — he held up some of the 
tablets he had made — “for a sixty-kilogram per- 
son each day are sufficient. Unknown to you, I 
have introduced some of this substance into the 
food already deficient in vitamines. I fancy that 
even now I can detect a change,” he nodded toward 
Mrs. Wardlaw. 

There was a murmur of surprise in the room, but 
before Craig could continue further the door opened 
and Mrs. Wardlaw uttered a nervous exclamation. 
There stood Chase with a woman. I recognized 
her immediately from Kennedy’s description as 
Miss Hackstaff. 

Chase walked deliberately over to Kennedy and 
handed him something, while the nurse glanced 
calmly, almost with pity, at Mrs. Wardlaw, ignoring 
Wardlaw, then fixing her gaze venomously on Miss 
214 


THE VITAL PRINCIPLE 


Langdale. Recalling the incident of the morning, 
I was ready to prevent, if necessary, a repeti- 
tion now. Neither moved. But it was a thrill- 
ing, if silent, drama as the two women glared at 
each other. 

Kennedy was hastily comparing the anonymous 
note he had received with something Chase had 
brought. 

“Some one,” he shot out, suddenly, looking up and 
facing us, “has, as I have intimated, been removing 
or destroying the vital principle in the food — these 
vit amines. Clearly the purpose was to make this 
case look like an epidemic of beriberi, polyneuritis. 
That part has been clear to me for some time. It 
has been the source of this devilish plot which has 
been obscure. Just a moment, Kato, I will do the 
talking. My detective, Chase, has been doing some 
shadowing for me, as well as some turning over of 
past history. He has found a woman, a nurse, more 
than a nurse, a secret lover, cast off in favor of 
another. Miss Hackstaff — you wrote that letter — 
it is your hand — for revenge — on Miss Langdale 
and — ” 

“You sha’n’t have him!” almost hissed Helen 
Hackstaff. “If I cannot — no one shall!” 

Natalie Langdale faced her, defiant. “You are a 
jealous, suspicious person,” she cried. “Doctor 
Aitken knows—” 

“One moment,” interrupted Craig. “Mrs. Mar- 
bury is gone. Mrs. Wardlaw is weakened. Yet all 
who are affected with nerve troubles are not neces- 
sarily suffering from polyneuritis. Some one here 
has been dilettanting with death. It is of no use,” 
2iS 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


he thundered, turning suddenly on a cowering figure. 
“You stood to win most, with the money and your 
unholy love. But Miss Hackstaff, cast off, has 
proved your Nemesis. Your nervousness is the 
nervousness not of polyneuritis, but of guilt, Doctor 
Wardlaw!” 



IX 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 

H YPNOTISM can’t begin to accomplish what 
Karatoff claims. He’s a fake, Kennedy, a 

fake.” 

Professor Leslie Gaines of the Department of 
Experimental Psychology at the university paced 
excitedly up and down Craig’s laboratory. 

“There have been complaints to the County 
Medical Society,” he went on, without stopping, 
“and they have taken the case up and arranged a 
demonstration for this afternoon. I’ve been dele- 
gated to attend it and report.” 

I fancied from his tone and manner that there 
was just a bit more than professional excitement 
involved. We did not know Gaines intimately, 
though of course Kennedy knew of him and he of 
Kennedy. Some years before, I recollected, he had 
married Miss Edith Ashmore, whose family was 
quite prominent socially, and the marriage had 
attracted a great deal of attention at the time, for 
she had been a student in one of his courses when he 
was only an assistant professor. 

“Who is Karatoff, anyhow?” asked Kennedy. 
“What is known about him?” 

“Dr. Galen Karatoff — a Russian, I believe,” 
217 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


returned Gaines. “He claims to be able to treat 
disease by hypnotism — suggestion, he calls it, 
though it is really something more than that. As 
nearly as I can make out it must almost amount to 
thought transference, telepathy, or some such thing. 
Oh, he has a large following; in fact, some very well- 
known people in the smart set are going to him. 
Why,” he added, facing us, “Edith — my wife — has 
become interested in his hypnotic clinics, as he calls 
them. I tell her it is more than half sham, but she 
won’t believe it.” 

Gaines paused and it was evident that he hesi- 
tated over asking something. 

“When is the demonstration?” inquired Kennedy, 
with unconcealed interest. 

The professor looked at his watch. “I’m going 
over there now; in fact, I’m just a bit late — only, I 
happened to think of you and it occurred to me that 
perhaps if you could add something to my report it 
might carry weight. Would you like to come with 
me? Really, I should think that it might interest 
you.” 

So far Kennedy had said little besides asking a 
question or two. I knew the symptoms. Gaines 
need not have hesitated or urged him. It was just 
the thing that appealed to him. 

“How did Mrs. Gaines become interested in the 
thing?” queried Craig, a moment later, outside, as we 
climbed into the car with the professor. 

“Through an acquaintance who introduced her 
to Karatoff and the rest. Carita Belleville, the 
dancer, you know?” 

Kennedy glanced at me and I nodded that I had 
218 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


heard of her. It was only a few nights before that 
I had seen Carita at one of the midnight revues , 
doing a dance which was described as the “hypnotic 
whirl,” a wild abandon of grace and motion. Carita 
Belleville had burst like a meteor on the sky of the 
“Great White Way,” blazing a gorgeous trail among 
the fixed stars of that gay firmament. She had even 
been “taken up” by society, or at least a certain 
coterie of it, had become much sought after to do 
exhibition dancing at social affairs, and now was 
well known in the amusement notes of the news- 
papers and at the fashionable restaurants. She 
had hosts of admirers and I had no doubt that Mrs. 
Gaines might well have fallen under the spell of her 
popularity. 

“What is Miss Belleville’s interest in Karat off?” 
pursued Craig, keenly. 

Gaines shrugged his shoulders. “Notoriety, per- 
haps,” he replied. “It is a peculiar group that 
Karatoff has gathered about him, they tell me.” 

There was something unsatisfactory about the 
answer and I imagined that Gaines meant purposely 
to leave it so as not to prejudice the case. Somehow, 
I felt that there must be something risqu£ in the 
doings of Karatoff and his “patients.” At any rate, 
it was only natural with anything that Carita Belle- . 
ville was likely to be concerned with. 

There was little time for further questions, for our 
destination was not far down the Drive from the uni- 
versity, and the car pulled up before one of the new 
handsome and ornate “studio apartments” up-town. 

We followed Gaines into the building, and the 
hall-boy directed us to a suite on the first floor. 

219 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


A moment later we were admitted by Karatoff 
himself to what had become known as his “hypnotic 
clinic,” really a most artistically furnished studio. 

Karatoff himself was a tall, dark-haired fellow, 
bearded, somewhat sallow. Every feature of his 
remarkable face, however, was subordinate to a 
pair of wonderful, deep-set, piercing eyes. Even as 
he spoke, greeting Gaines on the rather ticklish 
mission he had come, and accepting us with a quick 
glance and nod, we could see instantly that he was, 
indeed, a fascinating fellow, every inch a mystic. 

His clinic, or, as I have said, studio, carried out 
well the impression of mysticism that one derived 
from the strange personality who presided over it. 
There were only two or three rooms in the apartment, 
one being the large room down the end of a very 
short hall to which he conducted us. It was dark- 
ened, necessarily, since it was on the first floor of the 
tall building, and the air seemed to be heavy with 
odors that suggested the Orient. Altogether there 
was a cultivated dreaminess about it that was no 
less exotic because studied. Doctor Karatoff paused 
at the door to introduce us, and we could see that 
we were undergoing a close scrutiny from the party 
who were assembled there. 

On a quaint stand tea was brewing and the whole 
assemblage had an atmosphere of bohemian cama- 
raderie which, with the professions of Karatoff, 
promised well that Kennedy was not wasting time. 

I watched particularly the exchange of greetings 
between Professor Gaines and Edith Gaines, who 
was already there. Neither of them seemed to be 
perfectly at ease, though they betrayed as little as 
220 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


they could. However, one could not help noticing 
that each was watching the other, naturally. 

Edith Gaines was a pretty little woman, petite, 
light of hair, dainty, the very type of woman who 
craved for and thrived on attention. Here at least 
there seemed to be no lack of it. There was only 
one other woman in the room who attracted the 
men equally, Carita Belleville herself. Carita was 
indeed a stunning woman, tall, slender, dark, with a 
wonderful pair of magnetic eyes. 

As I watched, I could see that both women were 
quite friendly with Doctor Karatoff — perhaps even 
rivals for his attentions. I saw Gaines watching 
Carita attentively, never in the mean time failing 
for long to lose sight of Mrs. Gaines. Was he trying 
to estimate the relative popularity of the two in this 
strange group ? If so, I failed to see any approval of 
either. 

Introductions were now coming so fast that 
neither Kennedy nor I had much opportunity ex- 
cept for the most cursory observation of the people. 
Among the men, however, I noticed two especially 
who proved worth observation. One was Armand 
Marchant, well known as a broker, not so much for 
his professional doings as for his other activities. 
Though successful, he was better known as one of 
those who desert Wall Street promptly at the hour of 
closing, to be found late in the afternoon at the tea 
dances up-town. 

Another was Cyril Errol, a man of leisure, well 
known also in the club world. He had inherited an 
estate, small, perhaps, but ample to allow him to 
maintain appearances. Errol impressed you as being 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

one to whom the good things of the world appealed 
mightily, a hedonist, and, withal, very much attracted 
to and by the ladies. 

It was fortunate that the serving of tea enabled 
us to look about and get our bearings. In spite of 
the suppressed excitement and obvious restraint of 
the occasion, we were able to learn much over the 
tea-cups. 

Errol seemed to vibrate between the group about 
Mrs. Gaines and that about Miss Belleville, welcome 
wherever he went, for he was what men commonly 
call a “good mixer.” Marchant, on the other hand, 
was almost always to be found not far from Edith 
Gaines. Perhaps it was the more brilliant conversa- 
tion that attracted him, for it ran on many subjects, 
but it was difficult to explain it so to my satisfaction. 
All of which I saw Gaines duly noting, not for the 
report he had to make to the Medical Society, but 
for his own information. In fact, it was difficult to 
tell the precise degree of disapproval with which he 
regarded Karatoff, Errol, and Marchant, in turn, as 
he noted the intimacy of Edith Gaines with them. 
I wished that we might observe them all when they 
did not know it, for I could not determine whether 
she was taking pleasure in piquing the professor or 
whether she was holding her admirers in leash in his 
presence. At any rate, I felt I need lay no claim to 
clairvoyance to predict the nature of the report that 
Gaines would prepare. 

The conversation was at its height when Karatoff 
detached himself from one of the groups and took a 
position in a comer of the room, alone. Not a word 
was said by him, yet as if by magic the buzz of con- 
222 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


versation ceased. Karatoff looked about as though 
proud of the power of even his silence. Whatever 
might be said of the man, at least his very presence 
seemed to command respect from his followers. 

I had expected that he would make some reference 
to Gaines and ourselves and the purpose of the meet- 
ing, but he avoided the subject and, instead, chose 
to leap right into the middle of things. 

“So that there can be no question about what I 
am able to do,” he began, “I wish each of you to 
write on a piece of paper what you would like to have 
me cause any one to do or say under hypnotism. 
You will please fold the paper tightly, covering the 
writing. I will read the paper to myself, still folded 
up, will hypnotize the subject, and will make the 
subject do whatever is desired. That will be pre- 
liminary to what I have to say later about my 
powers in hypnotic therapeutics.” 

Pieces of paper and little lead-pencils were dis- 
tributed by an attendant and in the rustling silence 
that followed each cudgeled his brain for something 
that would put to the test the powers of Karat off . 

Thinking, I looked about the room. Near the 
speaker stood a table on which lay a curious collec- 
tion of games and books, musical instruments, and 
other things that might suggest actions to be per- 
formed in the test. My eye wandered to a phono- 
graph standing next the table. Somehow, I could 
not get Mrs. Gaines and Carita Belleville out of my 
head. 

Slowly I wrote, “Have Mrs. Gaines pick out a 
record, play it on the phonograph, then let her do as 
she pleases.” 


223 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Some moments elapsed while the others wrote. 
Apparently they were trying to devise methods of 
testing Doctor Karatoff ’s mettle. Then the papers 
were collected and deposited on the table beside him. 

Apparently at random Karatoff picked out one of 
the folded papers, then, seemingly without looking 
at it and certainly without unfolding it, as far as I 
could determine, he held it up to his forehead. 

It was an old trick, I knew. Perhaps he had 
palmed a sponge w^et with alcohol or some other 
liquid, had brushed it over the paper, making the 
writing visible through it, and drying out rapidly so 
as to leave the paper opaque again long before any 
of us saw it a second time. Or was he really exer- 
cising some occult power? At any rate, he read it, 
or pretended to read it, at least. 

“I am asked to hypnotize Mrs. Gaines,” he an- 
nounced, dropping the paper unconcernedly on the 
table beside the other pile, as though this were mere 
child’s play for his powers. It was something of a 
shock to realize that it was my paper he had chanced 
to pick up first, and I leaned forward eagerly, 
watching. 

Mrs. Gaines rose and every eye was riveted on 
her as Karatoff placed her in an easy-chair before 
him. There was an expectant silence, as Karatoff 
moved the chair so that she could concentrate her 
attention only on a bright silver globe suspended 
from the ceiling. The half-light, the heavy atmos- 
phere, the quiet, assured manner of the chief actor 
in the scene, all combined to make hypnotization 
as nearly possible as circumstances could. Karatoff 
moved before her, passing his hands with a peculiar 
224 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 

motion before her eyes. It seemed an incredibly 
short time in which Edith Gaines yielded to the 
strange force which fascinated the group. 

“Quite susceptible,” murmured Kennedy, beside, 
me, engrossed in the operation. 

“It is my test,” I whispered back, and he 
nodded. 

Slowly Edith Gaines rose from the chair, faced us 
with unseeing eyes, except as Karatoff directed. 
Karatoff himself was a study. It seemed as if he had 
focused every ounce of his faculties on the accom- 
plishment of the task in hand. Slowly still the 
woman moved, as if in a dream walk, over toward 
the phonograph, reached into the cabinet beneath 
it and drew forth a book of records. Karatoff faced 
us, as if to assure us that at that point he had re- 
signed his control and was now letting her act for 
her subconscious self. 

Her fingers passed over page after page until 
finally she stopped, drew forth the record, placed it 
on the machine, wound it, then placed the record on 
i the revolving disk. 

My first surprise was quickly changed to gratifica- 
tion. She had picked out the music to the “Hyp- 
notic Whirl.” I bent forward, more intent. What 
would she do next ? 

As she turned I could see, even in the dim light, 
a heightened color in her cheeks, as though the 
excitement of the catchy music had infected her. 
A moment later she was executing, and very credit- 
ably, too, an imitation of Carita herself in the 
Revue. What did it mean? Was it that consciously 
or unconsciously she was taking the slender dancer 
225 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


as her model? The skill and knowledge that she put 
into the dance showed plainly. 

Next to Kennedy, I saw Gaines leaning far for- 
ward, looking now at his wife, now at the little 
group. I followed his eyes. To my surprise, I saw 
Marchant, his gaze riveted on Edith Gaines as if she 
had been the star performer in a play. Evidently 
my chance request to KaratofT had been builded 
better than I knew. I ran my gaze over the others. 
Errol was no less engrossed than Marchant. Quickly 
I glanced at Carita, wondering whether she might 
be gratified by the performance of a pupil. "Whether 
it was natural grace or real hypnotism in the “Hyp- 
notic Whirl,” I was surprised to see on Carita’s face 
something that looked strangely akin to jealousy. It 
was as though some other woman had usurped her 
prerogative. She leaned over to speak to Errol with 
the easy familiarity of an old admirer. I could not 
hear what was said and perhaps it was inconsequen- 
tial. In fact, it must have been the very inconse- 
quentiality of his reply that piqued her. He glanced 
at Marchant a moment, as if she had said some- 
thing about him, then back at Edith Gaines. On 
his part, Professor Gaines was growing more and 
more furious. 

I had just about decided that the little drama in 
the audience was of far more importance and interest 
than even the dance, when the music ceased. Kara- 
toff approached, took Mrs. Gaines by the hand, led 
her back to the chair, and, at a word, she regained 
her normal consciousness. As she rose, still in a daze 
it seemed, it was quite evident that she had no 
waking realization of what had happened, for she 
226 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


walked back and sat down beside her husband, quite 
as though nothing had happened. 

As for me, I could not help wondering what had 
actually happened. What did it all mean ? Had Mrs. 
Gaines expressed her own self — or was it Karatoff — 
or Marchant — or Errol? What was the part played 
by Carita Belleville? Gaines did not betray any- 
thing to her, but their mutual attitude was eloquent. 
There was something of which he disapproved and 
she knew it, some lack of harmony. What was the 
cause ? 

As for Karatoff’ s exhibition, it was all truly re- 
markable, whether in his therapeutics the man was 
a faker or not. 

Karatoff seemed to realize that he had made a hit. 
Without giving any one a chance to question him, 
he reached down quickly and picked up another of 
the papers, repeating the process through which he 
had gone before. 

“Mr. Errol,” he summoned, placing the second 
folded paper on the table with the first. 

Errol rose and went forward and Karatoff placed 
him in the chair as he had Mrs. Gaines. There 
seemed to be no hesitation, at least on the part of 
Karatoff’s followers, to being hypnotized. 

Whatever it was written on the paper, the writer 
had evidently not trusted to chance, as I had, but had 
told specifically what to do. 

At the mute bidding of Karatoff Errol rose. We 
watched breathlessly. Deliberately he walked across 
the room to the table, and, to the astonishment 
of all save one, picked up a rubber dagger, one of 
those with which children play, which was lying in 
227 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the miscellaneous pile on the table. I had not 
noticed it, but some one’s keen eye had, and evi- 
dently it had suggested a melodramatic request. 

Quickly Errol turned. If he had been a motion- 
picture actor, he could not have portrayed better 
the similitude of hate that was written on his face. 
A few strides and he had advanced toward our little 
audience, now keyed up to the highest pitch of 
excitement by the extraordinary exhibition. 

“Of course,” remarked Karatoff, as at a word 
Errol paused, still poising the dagger, “you know 
that under hypnotism in the psychological labora- 
tory a patient has often struck at his ‘enemy’ with 
a rubber dagger, going through all the motions of 
real passion. Now!” 

No word was said by Karatoff to indicate to Errol 
what it was that he was to do. But a gasp went up 
from some one as he took another step and it was 
evident that it was Marchant whom he had singled 
out. For just a moment Errol poised the rubber 
dagger over his “victim,” as if gloating. It was 
dramatic, realistic. As Errol paused, Marchant 
smiled at the rest of us, a sickly smile, I thought, as 
though he would have said that the play was being 
carried too far. 

Never for a moment did Errol take from him the 
menacing look. It was only a moment in the play, 
yet it was so unexpected that it seemed ages. Then, 
swiftly, down came the dagger on Marchant’s left 
side just over the breast, the rubber point bending 
pliantly as it descended. 

A sharp cry escaped Marchant. I looked quickly. 
He had fallen forward, face down, on the floor. 

228 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


Edith Gaines screamed as we rushed to Marchant 
and turned him over. For the moment, as Kennedy, 
Karat oft, and Gaines bent over him and endeavored 
to loosen his collar and apply a restorative, conster- 
nation reigned in the little circle. I bent over, too* 
and looked first at Marchant’s flushed face, then at 
Kennedy. Marchant was dead! 

There was not a mark on him, apparently. Only 
a moment before he had been one of us. We could 
look at one another only in amazement, tinged 
with fear. Killed by a rubber dagger? Was it 
possible ? 

“Call an ambulance — quick!” directed Kennedy 
to me, though I knew that he knew it was of no use 
except as a matter of form. 

We stood about the prostrate form, stunned. In 
a few moments the police would be there. Instinc- 
tively we looked at Karatoff . Plainly he was nervous 
and overwrought now. His voice shook as he 
brought Errol out of the trance, and Errol, dazed, 
uncomprehending, struggled to take in the horribly 
unreal tragedy which greeted his return to con- 
sciousness. 

“It — it was an accident,” muttered Karatoff, 
eagerly trying to justify himself, though trembling 
for once in his life. “Arteriosclerosis, perhaps, hard- 
ening of the arteries, some weakness of the heart. 
I never — ” 

He cut the words short as Edith Gaines reeled and 
fell into her husband’s arms. She seemed com- 
pletely prostrated by the shock. Or was it weak- 
ness following the high mental tension of her own 
hypnotization ? Together we endeavored to revives 
16 229 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


her, waiting for the first flutter of her eyelids, which 
seemed an interminable time. 

Errol in the mean time was pacing the floor like 
one in a dream. Events had followed one another 
so fast in the confusion that I had only an unrelated 
series of impressions. It was not until a moment 
later that I realized the full import of the affair, 
when I saw Kennedy standing near the table in the 
position Karatoff had assumed, a strange look of 
perplexity on his face. Slowly I realized what was 
the cause. The papers on which were written the 
requests for the exhibitions of Karatoff ’s skill were 
gone! 

Whatever was done must be done quickly, and 
Kennedy looked about with a glance that missed 
nothing. Before I could say a word about the 
papers he had crossed the room to where Marchant 
had been standing in the little group about Edith 
Gaines as we entered. On a side-table stood the tea- 
cup from which he had been sipping. With his back 
to the rest, Kennedy drew from his breast pocket a 
little emergency case he carried containing a few 
thin miniature glass tubes. Quickly he poured the 
few drops of the dregs of the tea into one of the 
tubes, then into others tea from the other cups. 

Again he looked at the face of Marchant as though 
trying to read in the horrified smile that had petrified 
on it some mysterious secret hidden underneath. 
Slowly the question was shaping in my mind, was 
it, as Karatoff would have us believe, an accident ? 

The clang of a bell outside threw us all into worse 
confusion, and a moment later, almost together, a 
white-coated surgeon and a blue-coated policeman 
230 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


burst into the room. It seemed almost no time, in 
the swirl of events, before the policeman was joined 
by a detective assigned by the Central Office to that 
district. 

“Well, doctor,” demanded the detective as he 
entered, “what’s the verdict?” 

“Arteriosclerosis, I think,” replied the young 
surgeon. “They tell me there w~as some kind of 
hypnotic seance going on. One of them named 
Errol struck at him with a rubber dagger, and — ” 

‘ ‘ Get out !” scoffed the Central Office man. ‘ ‘ Killed 
by a rubber dagger! Say, what do you think we 
are ? What did you find when you entered, sergeant ?” 

The policeman handed the detective the rubber 
dagger which he had picked up, forgotten, on the 
floor where Errol had dropped it when he came out 
from the hypnotization. 

The detective took it gingerly and suspiciously, 
with a growl. “I’ll have the point of this analyzed. 
It may be — well — we won’t say what may be. But 
I can tell you what is. You, Doctor Karatoff, or 
whatever your name is, and you, Mr. Errol, are under 
arrest. It’s a good deal easier to take you now than 
it will be later. Then if you can get a judge to re- 
lease you, we’ll at least know where you are.” 

“This is outrageous, preposterous!” stormed Kara- 
toff. 

“Can’t help it,” returned the officer, coolly. 

“Why,” exclaimed Carita Belleville, excitedly pro- 
jecting herself before the two prisoners, “it’s ridicu- 
lous! Even the ambulance surgeon says it was 
arteriosclerosis, an accident. I — ” 

“Very well, madam,” calmed the sergeant. “So 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


much the better. They’ll get out of our hands that 
much quicker. Just at present it is my duty.” 

Errol was standing silent, his eyes averted from 
the hideous form on the floor, not by word or action 
betraying a feeling. The police moved to the door. 

Weak and trembling still from the triple shock 
she had received, Edith Gaines leaned heavily on 
the arm of her husband, but it was, as nearly as I 
could make out, only for physical support. 

“I told you, Edith, it was a dangerous business,” 
I heard him mutter. “Only I never contemplated 
that they’d carry it this far. Now you see what 
such foolishness can lead to.” 

Weak though she was, she drew away and flashed 
a glance at him, resenting his man’s ‘ T-told-you-so ” 
manner. The last I saw of them in the confusion 
Was as they drove off in the car, still unreconciled. 

Kennedy seemed well contented, for the present 
at least, to allow the police a free hand with Errol 
and Karatoff. As for me, Mrs. Gaines and Carita 
Belleville presented a perplexing problem, but I 
said nothing, for he was hurrying back now to his 
laboratory. 

At once he drew forth the little tube containing 
the few drops of tea and emptied a drop or two into 
a beaker of freshly distilled water as carefully as if 
the tea had been some elixir of life. As he was 
examining the contents of the beaker his face 
clouded with thought. 

“Do you find anything?” I asked, eagerly. 

Kennedy shook his head. “There’s something 
wrong,” he hazarded. “Perhaps it’s only fancy, but 
I am sure that there is something with a slight odor 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


in the tea, something tea-like, but with a more 
bitter taste, something that would be nauseous if 
not concealed in the tea. There’s more than tannin 
and sugar here.” 

“Then you think that some one present placed 
something in the tea?” I inquired, shuddering at the 
thought that we had run some unknown danger. 

“I can’t just say, without further investigation of 
this and the other samples I took.” 

“Still, you have eliminated that ridiculous dagger 
theory,” I ventured. 

“The police can never appreciate the part it 
played,” Craig answered, non-committally, laying 
out various chemicals preparatory to his exhaustive 
analysis. “I began to suspect something the mo- 
ment I noticed that those notes which we all wrote 
were gone. When we find out about this tea we 
may find who took them. Perhaps the mystery is 
not such a mystery after all, then.” 

There seemed to be nothing that I could do, in the 
mean time, except to refrain from hindering Kennedy 
in his investigations, and I decided to leave him at the 
laboratory while I devoted my time to watching 
what the police might by chance turn up, even if 
they should prove to be working on the wrong angle 
of the case. 

I soon found that they were showing energy, if 
nothing else. Although it was so soon after the death 
of Marchant, they had determined that there could 
not have been anything but rubber on the end of 
the toy dagger which had excited the doubts of the 
detective. 

As for the autopsy that was performed on Mar- 
233 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


chant, it did, indeed, show that he was suffering 
from hardening of the arteries, due to his manner 
of living, as Karatoff had asserted. Indeed, the 
police succeeded in showing that it was just for 
that trouble that Marchant was going to Karatoff, 
which, to my mind, seemed quite sufficient to estab- 
lish the therapeutic hypnotist as all that Gaines had 
accused him of being. Even to my lay mind the 
treatment of arteriosclerosis by mental healing 
seemed, to say the least, incongruous. 

Yet the evidence against Karatoff and Errol was 
so flimsy that they had little trouble in getting re- 
leased on bail, though, of course, it was fixed very 
high. 

My own inquiries among the other reporters on 
the Star who might know something offered a more 
promising lead. I soon found that Errol had none 
too savory a reputation. His manner of life had 
added nothing to his slender means, and there was 
a general impression among his fellow club-members 
that unfortunate investments had made serious 
inroads into the principal of his fortune. Still, I 
hesitated to form even an opinion on gossip. 

Quite unsatisfied with the result of my investiga- 
tion, I could not restrain my impatience to get back 
to the laboratory to find out whether Kennedy had 
made any progress in his tests of the tea. 

“If you had been five minutes earlier,” he greeted 
me, “you would have been surprised to find a visitor.” 

“A visitor?” I repeated. “Who?” 

“Carita Belleville,” he replied, enjoying my incre- 
dulity. 

“What could she want?” I asked, at length. 

234 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” he agreed. 
“Her excuse was plausible. She said that she had 
just heard why I had come with Gaines. I suppose 
it was half an hour that she spent endeavoring to 
convince me that Karatoff and Errol could not pos- 
sibly have had any other connection than accidental 
with the death of M archant.” 

Could it have been a word for them and half an 
hour for herself?” I queried, mystified. 

Kennedy shrugged. “I can’t say. At any rate, 
I must see both Karatoff and Errol, now that they 
are out. Perhaps they did send her, thinking I might 
fall for her. She hinted pretty broadly at using my 
influence with Gaines on his report. Then, again, 
she may simply have been wondering how she herself 
stood.” 

“Have you found anything?” I asked, noticing 
that his laboratory table was piled high with its 
usual paraphernalia. 

“Yes,” he replied, laconically, taking a bottle of 
concentrated sulphuric acid and pouring a few 
drops in a beaker of slightly tinged water. 

The water turned slowly to a beautiful green. 
No sooner was the reaction complete than he took 
some bromine and added it. Slowly again the water 
changed, this time from the green to a peculiar violet 
red. Adding more water restored the green color. 

“That’s the Grandeau test,” he nodded, with 
satisfaction. “I’ve tried the physiological test, too, 
with frogs from the biological department, and it 
shows the effect on the heart that I — ” 

“What shows the effect?” I interrupted, somewhat 
impatiently. 


23s 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Oh, to be sure,” he smiled. “I forgot I hadn't 
told you what I suspected. Why, digitalis— fox- 
glove, you know. I suppose it never occurred to the 
police that the rubber dagger might have covered up 
a peculiar poisoning? Well, if they’ll take the con- 
tents of the stomach, in alcohol, with a little water 
acidulated, strain off the filtrate and try it on a dog, 
they will see that its effect is the effect of digitalis. 
Digitalis is an accumulative poison and a powerful 
stimulant of arterial walls, by experimental evidence 
an ideal drug for the purpose of increasing blood 
pressure. Don’t you see it?” he added, excitedly. 
“The rubber dagger was only a means to an end. 
Some one who knew the weakness of Marchant first 
placed digitalis in his tea. That was possible be- 
cause of the taste of the tea. Then, in the excite- 
ment of the act pantomimed by Errol, Marchant’s 
disease carried him off, exactly as was to be expected 
under the circumstances. It was clever, diabolically 
clever. Whoever did it destroyed the note in which 
the act was suggested and counted that no one would 
ever stop to search for a poison in the tangle of 
events.” 

Slowly but clearly I began to realize how cer- 
tainly Kennedy was reconstructing the strange case. 
But who was it ? What was the motive back of this 
sinister murder that had been so carefully planned 
that no one would ever suspect a crime ? 

I had hardly framed the queries when our tele- 
phone rang. It was the Central Office man. The 
detective had anticipated my own line of inquiry, 
only had gone much further with it. He had found 
a clear record of the business relations existing be- 
236 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 

tween Errol and Marchant. One episode consisted 
of a stock deal between them in which Errol had 
invested in a stock which Marchant was promoting 
and was known to be what brokers call “cats and 
dogs.” That, I reasoned, must have been the basis 
of the gossip that Errol had suffered financial losses 
that seriously impaired his little fortune. It was an 
important item and Kennedy accepted it gladly, but 
said nothing of his own discovery. The time had 
not arrived yet to come out into the open. 

For a few moments after the talk with the de- 
tective Kennedy seemed to be revolving the case, 
as though in doubt whether the new information 
cleared it up or added to the mystery. Then he rose 
suddenly. 

“We must find Karatoff,” he announced. 

Whatever might have been the connection of the 
hypnotist with this strange case, he was far too 
clever to betray himself by any such misstep as 
seeming to avoid inquiry. We found him easily at 
his studio apartment, nor did we have any difficulty 
in gaining admittance. He knew that he was 
watched and that frankness was his best weapon of 
defense. 

“Of course,” opened Kennedy, “you know that 
investigation has shown that you were right in your 
diagnosis of the trouble with Marchant. Was it 
arteriosclerosis for which you were treating him?” 

“It would be unprofessional to discuss it,” hastily 
parried Karatoff, “but, since Mr. Marchant is now 
dead, I think I may say that it was. In fact, few 
persons, outside of those whom I have associated 
about me, realize to what a wonderful extent hypno- 
237 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


tism may be carried in the treatment of disease. 
Why, I have even had wonderful success with such 
disorders as diabetes mellitus. We are only on the 
threshold of understanding what a. wonderful thing 
is the human mind in its effect on the material body.” 

“But another patient might have known what 
Marchant was being treated for?” interrupted Ken- 
nedy, ignoring the defense of Karatoff, which was 
proceeding along the stereotyped lines of such va- 
garies which seem never to be without followers. 

Karatoff looked at him a moment in surprise. 
Evidently he was doing some hasty mental calcula- 
tion to determine what was Craig’s ulterior motive. 
And, in spite of his almost uncanny claims and per- 
formances, I could see that he was able to read 
Kennedy’s mind no whit better than myself. 

“I suppose so,” he admitted. “No doctor was 
ever able to control his patients’ tongues. Some- 
times they boast of their diseases.” 

“Especially if they are women?” hinted Kennedy, 
watching the effect of the remark keenly. “I have 
just had the pleasure of a visit from Carita Belleville 
in my laboratory.” 

“Indeed?” returned Karatoff, with difficulty re- 
straining his curiosity. “Miss Belleville has been 
very kind in introducing me to some of her friends 
and acquaintances, and I flatter myself that I have 
been able to do them much good.” 

“Then she was not a patient?” pursued Kennedy, 
studiously avoiding enlightening Karatoff on the 
visit. 

“Rather a friend,” he replied, quickly. “It was 
she who introduced Mr. Errol.” 

2*8 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


“They are quite intimate, I believe,” put in 
Kennedy at a chance. 

“Really, I knew very little about it,” Karatoff 
avoided. 

“Did she introduce Mr. Marchant?” 

“She introduced Mrs. Gaines, who introduced Mr. 
Marchant,” the hypnotist replied, with apparent 
frankness. 

“You were treating Mrs. Gaines?” asked Craig, 
again shifting the attack unexpectedly. 

“Yes,” admitted Karatoff, stopping. 

“I imagine her trouble was more mental than 
physical,” remarked Kennedy, in a casual tone, as 
though feeling his way. 

Karatoff looked up keenly, but was unable to read 
Kennedy’s face. “I think,” he said, slowly, “that 
one trouble was that Mrs. Gaines liked the social 
life better than the simple life.” 

“Your clinic, Air. Marchant, and the rest better 
than her husband and the social life at the univer- 
sity,” amplified Kennedy. “I think you are right. 
She had drifted away from her husband, and when a 
woman does that she has hosts of admirers — of a 
certain sort. I should say that Mr. Errol was the 
kind who would care more for the social life than the 
simple life, as you put it, too.” 

I did not gather in what direction Kennedy was 
tending, but it was evident that Karatoff felt more 
at ease. Was it because the quest seemed to be 
leading away from himself? 

“I had noticed something of the sort,” he vent- 
ured. “I saw that they were alike in that respect, 
but, of course, Mr. Marchant was her friend.” 

239 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Suddenly the implication flashed over me, but 
before I could say anything Kennedy cut in, “Then 
Mr. Errol might have been enacting under hypnotism 
what were really his own feelings and desires?” 

“I cannot say that,” replied Karatoff, seeking to 
dodge the issue. “But under the influence of sug- 
gestion I suppose it is true that an evil-minded 
person might suggest to another the commission of a 
crime, and the other, deprived of free will, might do 
it. The rubber dagger has often been used for sham 
murders. The possibility of actual murder cannot 
be denied. In this case, however, there can be no 
question that it was an unfortunate accident.” 

“No question?” demanded Kennedy, directly. 

If Karatoff was concealing anything, he made 
good concealment. Either to protect himself or 
another he showed no evidence of weakening his 
first theory of the case. 

“No question as far as I know,” he reiterated. 

I wondered whether Kennedy planned to en- 
lighten him on the results of his laboratory tests, 
but was afraid to look at either for fear of betraying 
some hint. I was glad I did not. Kennedy’s next 
question carried him far afield from the subject. 

“Did you know that the Medical Society were 
interested in you and your clinic before the demon- 
stration before Professor Gaines was arranged?” 

“I suspected some one was interested,” answered 
Karatoff, quickly. ‘ 1 But I had no idea who it might 
be. As I think it over now, perhaps it was Professor 
Gaines who instigated the whole inquiry. He would 
most likely be interested. My work is so far in 
advance of any that the conservative psychologists 
240 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 

do that he would naturally feel hostile, would he 
not?” 

“Especially with the added personal motive of 
knowing that his wife was one of your patients, 
along with Carita Belleville, Marchant, Errol, and 
the rest,” added Kennedy. 

Karatoff smiled. “I would not have said that 
myself. But since you have said it, I cannot help 
admitting its truth. Don’t you suppose I could 
predict the nature of any report he would make?” 

Karatoff faced Kennedy squarely. There was an 
air almost of triumph in his eyes. “I think I had 
better say no more, except under the advice of my 
lawyer,” he remarked, finally. “When the police 
want me, they can find me here.” 

Quite evident to me now, as we went out of the 
studio, was the fact that Karatoff considered himself 
a martyr, that he was not only the victim of an 
accident, but of persecution as well. 

“The fishing was good,” remarked Kennedy, 
tersely, as we reached the street. “Now before I 
see Errol I should like to see Gaines again.” 

I tried to reason it out as we walked along in 
silence. Marchant had known Edith Gaines inti- 
mately. Carita Belleville had known Errol as well. 
I recalled Errol hovering about Mrs. Gaines at the 
tea and the incident during the seance when Carita 
Belleville had betrayed her annoyance over some 
remark by Errol. The dancing by Edith Gaines 
had given a flash of the jealous nature of the woman. 
Had it been interest in Errol that had led her to visit 
the laboratory ? Kennedy was weaving a web about 
some one, I knew. But about whom? 

241 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


As we passed a corner, he paused, entered a drug* 
store and called up several numbers at a pay-station 
telephone booth. Then we turned into the campus 
and proceeded rapidly toward the laboratory of the 
psychological department. Gaines was there, sitting 
at his desk, writing, as we entered. 

“I’m glad to see you,” he greeted, laying down his 
work. “I am just finishing the draft of my report on 
that Karatoff affair. I have been trying to reach 
you by telephone to know whether you would add 
anything to it. Is there anything new?” 

“Yes,” returned Kennedy, “there is something 
new. I’ve just come from Karatoff ’s and on the 
way I decided suddenly that it was time we did some- 
thing. So I have called up, and the police will bring 
Errol here, as well as Miss Belleville. Karatoff will 
come — he won’t dare stay away; and I also took 
the liberty of calling Mrs. Gaines.” 

“To come here?” repeated Gaines, in mild sur- 
prise. “All of them?” 

“Yes. I hope you will pardon me for intruding, 
but I want to borrow some of your psychological 
laboratory apparatus, and I thought the easiest way 
would be to use it here rather than take it all over to 
my place and set it up again.” 

“I’m sure everything is at your service,” offered 
Gaines. “It’s a little unexpected, but if the others 
can stand the chaotic condition of the room, I guess 
we can.” x 

Kennedy had been running his eye over the various 
instruments which Gaines and his students used in 
* their studies, and was now examining something in 
a comer on a little table. It was a peculiar affair, 
242 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


quite simple, but conveying to me no idea of its use. 
There seemed to be a cuff, a glass chamber full of 
water into which it fitted, tubes and wires that 
attached various dials and recording instruments to 
the chamber, and what looked like a chronograph. 

“That is my new plethysmograph,” remarked 
Gaines, noting with some satisfaction how Kennedy 
had singled it out. 

“I’ve heard the students talk of it,” returned 
Kennedy. “It’s an improved apparatus, Walter, 
that records one’s blood flow.” I nodded politely 
and concealed rny ignorance in a discreet silence, 
hoping that Gaines would voluntarily enlighten us. 

“One of my students is preparing an exhaustive 
table,” went on Gaines, as I had hoped, “showing 
the effects on blood distribution of different stimuli — 
for instance, cold, heat, chloroform, arenalin, desire, 
disgust, fear; physical conditions, drugs, emotions — 
all sorts of things can be studied by this plethysmo- 
graph which can be set to record blood flow through 
the brain, the extremities, any part of the body. 
When the thing is charted I think we shall have 
opened up a new field.” 

“Certainly a very promising one for me,” put in 
Kennedy. “How has this machine been improved? 

; I’ve seen the old ones, but this is the first time I’ve 
seen this. How does it work?” 

“Well,” explained Gaines, with just a touch of 
pride, “you see, for studying blood flow in the ex- 
tremities, I slip this cuff over my arm, we’ll say. Sup- 
pose it is the effect of pain I want to study. Just 
jab that needle in my other arm. Don’t mind. It’s 
in the interest of science. See, when I winced then, 
243 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the plethysmograph recorded it. It smarts a bit 
and I’m trying to imagine it smarts worse. You’ll 
see how pain affects blood flow.” 

As he watched the indicator, Kennedy asked one 
question after another about the working of the 
machine, and the manner in which the modern 
psychologist was studying every emotion. 

“By the way, Walter,” he interrupted, glancing 
at his watch, “call up and see if they’ve started 
with Errol and the rest yet. Don’t stop, Gaines. I 
must understand this thing before they get here. 
It’s just the thing I want.” 

“I should be glad to let you have it, then,” replied 
Gaines. 

“I think I’ll need something new with these 
people,” went on Kennedy. “Why, do you know 
what I’ve discovered?” 

“No, but I hope it’s something I can add to my 
report?” 

“Perhaps. We’ll see. In the first place, I found 
that digitalis had been put in Marchant’s tea.” 

“They’ll be here directly,” I reported from the 
telephone, hanging it up and joining them again. 

“It couldn’t have been an accident, as Karatoff 
said,” went on Kennedy, rapidly. “The drug in- 
creased the blood pressure of Marchant, who was 
already suffering from hardening of the arteries. 
In short, it is my belief that the episode of the 
rubber dagger was deliberately planned, an elaborate 
scheme to get Marchant out of the way. No one 
else seems to have noticed it, but those slips of paper 
on which we all wrote have disappeared. At the 
worst, it would look like an accident, Karatoff would 
244 


THE RUBBER DAGGER 


be blamed, and — ” There was a noise outside as 
the car pulled up. 

“Here, let me take this oft before any of them 
see it,” whispered Gaines, removing the cuff, just as 
the door opened and Errol and Karatoff, Carita 
Belleville and Edith Gaines entered. 

Before even a word of greeting gassed, Kennedy 
stepped forward. “It was not an accident,” he 
repeated. ‘ ‘ It was a deliberately planned, apparently 
safe means of revenge on Marchant, the lover of 
Mrs. Gaines. Without your new plethysmograph, 
Gaines, you might have thrown it on an innocent 
person!” 

17 


X 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 

* 4 LI ERE ’S the bullet. What I want you to do, 

11 Professor Kennedy, is to catch the crank who 
fired it.” 

Capt. Lansing Marlowe, head of the new American 
Shipbuilding Trust, had summoned us in haste to 
the Belleclaire and had met us in his suite with his 
daughter Marjorie. Only a glance was needed to 
see that it was she, far more than her father, who was 
worried. 

“You must catch him,” she appealed. “Father’s 
life is in danger. Oh, you simply must .” 

I knew Captain Marlowe to be a proverbial fire- 
eater, but in this case, at least, he was no alarmist. 
For, on the table, as he spoke, he laid a real bullet. 

Marjorie Marlowe shuddered at the mere sight of 
it and glanced apprehensively at him as if to reassure 
herself. She was a tall, slender girl, scarcely out of 
her ’teens, whose face was one of those quite as 
striking for its character as its beauty. The death 
of her mother a few years before had placed on her 
much of the responsibility of the captain’s house- 
hold and with it a charm added to youth. 

More under the spell of her plea than even Mar- 
lowe’s vigorous urging, Kennedy, without a word, 
246 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


picked up the bullet and examined it. It was one of 
the modem spitzer type, quite short, conical in 
shape, tapering gradually, with the center of gravity 
back near the base. 

“I suppose you know,” went on the captain, 
eagerly, “that our company is getting ready to- 
morrow to launch the Usona , the largest liner that 
has ever been built on this side of the water — the 
name is made up of the initials of the United States 
of North America. 

“Just now,” he added, enthusiastically, “is what 
I call the golden opportunity for American shipping. 
While England and Germany are crippled, it’s our 
chance to put the American flag on the sea as it was 
in the old days, and we’re going to do it. Why, the 
shipyards of my company are worked beyond their 
capacity now.” 

Somehow the captain’s enthusiasm was con- 
tagious. I could see that his daughter felt it, that 
she was full of fire over the idea. But at the same 
time something vastly more personal weighed on 
her mind. 

“But, father,” she interrupted, anxiously, “tell 
them about the bullet .” 

The captain smiled indulgently as though he 
would say that he was a tough old bird to wing. It 
was only a mask to hide the fighting spirit under- 
neath. 

“We’ve had nothing but trouble ever since we 
laid the keel of that ship,” he continued, pugnacious- 
ly, “strikes, a fire in the yard, delays, about every- 
thing that could happen. Lately we’ve noticed a 
motor-boat hanging about the river-front of the 
’ 247 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

yards. So I’ve had a boat of my own patrolling the 
river.” 

“What sort of craft is this other?” inquired 
Kennedy, interested at once. 

“A very fast one — like those express cruisers that 
we hear so much about now.” 

“Whose is it? Who was in it? Have you any 
idea?” 

Marlowe shook his head doubtfully. “No idea. 
I don’t know who owns the boat or who runs it. 
My men tell me they think they’ve seen a woman in 
it sometimes, though. I’ve been trying to figure it 
out. Why should it be hanging about? It can’t be 
spying. There isn’t any secrecy about the Usona. 
Why is it? It’s a mystery.” 

“And the shot?” prompted Craig, tapping the 
bullet. 

“Oh yes, let me tell you. Last night, Marjorie 
and I arrived from Bar Harbor on my yacht, for 
the launching. It’s anchored off the yard now. 
Well, early this morning, while it was still gray and 
misty, I was up. I’ll confess I’m worried over to- 
morrow. I hadn’t been able to forget that cruiser. 
I was out on the deck, peering into the mist, when 
I’m sure I saw her. I was just giving a signal to the 
boat we have patrolling, when a shot whistled past 
me and the bullet buried itself in the woodwork of 
the main saloon back of me. I dug it out of the 
wood with my knife — so you see I got it almost 
unflattened. That’s all I have got, too. The cruiser 
made a getaway, clean.” 

“I’m sure it was aimed at him,” Marjorie ex- 
claimed. “I don’t think it was chance. Don’t you 
248 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


see? They’ve tried everything else. Now if they 
could get my father, the head of the company, that 
would be a blow that would cripple the trust.” 

Marlowe patted his daughter’s hand reassuringly 
and smiled again, as though not to magnify the 
incident. 

“Marjorie was so alarmed,” he confessed, “that 
nothing would satisfy her but that I should come 
ashore and stay here at the Belleclaire, where we 
always put up when we are in town.” 

The telephone rang and Marjorie answered it. “I 
hope you’ll pardon me,” she excused, hanging up 
the receiver. “They want me very much down- 
stairs.” Then appealing, she added: “I’ll have to 
leave you with father. But, please, you must catch 
that crank who is threatening him.” 

“I shall do my level best,” promised Kennedy. 
“You may depend on that.” 

“You see,” explained the captain as she left us, 
“I’ve invited quite a large party to attend the 
launching, for one reason or another. Marjorie 
must play hostess. They’re mostly here at the 
hotel. Perhaps you saw some of them as you 
came in.” 

Craig was still scanning the bullet. “It looks 
almost as if some one had dum-dummed it,” he re- 
marked, finally. “It’s curiously done, too. Just 
look at those grooves.” 

Both the captain and I looked. It had a hard 
jacket of cupro-nickel, like the army bullet, covering 
a core of softer metal. Some one had notched or 
scored the jacket as if with a sharp knife, though not 
completely through it. Had it been done for the 
249 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


purpose of inflicting a more frightful wound if it 
struck the captain ? 

“There ’ve been other shots, too,” went on Mar- 
lowe. “One of my watchmen was wounded the 
night before. It didn’t look like a serious wound, 
in the leg. Yet the poor fellow seems to be in a bad 
way, they tell me.” 

“How is that?” asked Craig, glancing up quickly 
from studying the bullet. 

“The wound seems to be all puffed up, and very 
painful. It won’t heal, and he seems to be weak and 
feverish. Why, I’m afraid the man will die.” 

“I’d like to see that case,” remarked Kennedy, 
thoughtfully. 

“Very well. I’ll have you driven to the hospital 
where we have had to take him.” 

“I’d like to see the yards, too, and the Usona ,” 
he added. 

“All right. After you go to the hospital I’ll meet 
you at the yards at noon. Now if you’ll come 
down-stairs with me, I’ll get my car and have you 
taken to the hospital first.” 

We followed Marlowe into the elevator and rode 
doyjn. In the large parlor we saw that Marjorie 
Marlowe had joined a group of the guests, and the 
captain turned aside to introduce us. 

Among them I noticed a striking-looking woman, 
somewhat older than Marjorie. She turned as we 
approached and greeted the captain cordially. 

“I’m so glad there was nothing serious this morn- 
ing,” she remarked, extending her hand to him. 

“Oh, nothing at all, nothing at all,” he returned, 
holding the hand, I thought, just a bit longer than 

2 *vO • 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


was necessary. Then he turned to us, “Miss Alma 
Hillman, let me present Professor Kennedy and Mr. 
Jameson.’ * 

I was not so preoccupied in taking in the group 
that I did not notice that the captain was more than 
ordinarily attentive to her. Nor can I say that I 
blamed him, for, although he might almost have 
been her father in age, there was a fascination about 
her that youth does not often possess. 

Talking with her had been a young man, slender, 
good-looking, with almost a military bearing. 

“Mr. Ogilvie Fitzhugh,” introduced Marjorie, 
seeing that her father was neglecting his duties. 

Fitzhugh bowed and shook hands, murmured 
something stereotyped, and turned again to speak to 
Marjorie. 

I watched the young people closely. If Captain 
Marlowe was interested in Alma, it was more than 
evident that Fitzhugh was absolutely captivated by 
Marjorie, and I fancied that Marjorie was not 
averse to him, for he had a personality and a manner 
which were very pleasing. 

As the conversation ran gaily on to the launching 
and the gathering party of notables who were ex- 
pected that night and the next day, I noticed that 
a dark-eyed, dark-haired, olive-complexioned young 
man approached and joined us. 

“Doctor Gavira,” said Marlowe, turning to us, 
his tone indicating that he was well acquainted about 
the hotel. “He is our house physician.” 

Gavira also was welcomed in the party, chatting 
with animation. It was apparent that the physician 
also was very popular with the ladies, and it needed 

251 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


only half an eye to discern that Fitzhugh was jealous 
when he talked to Marjorie, while Marlowe but ill 
concealed his restlessness when Gavira spoke to 
Alma. As for Alma, she seemed to treat all men 
impartially, except that just now it pleased her to 
bestow the favor of her attention on the captain. 

Just then a young lady, all in white, passed. 
Plainly she did not belong to the group, though she 
was much interested in it. As his eye roved over 
the parlor, Gavira caught her glance and bowed. 
She returned it, but her look did not linger. For a 
moment she glanced sharply at Fitzhugh, still talk- 
ing to Marjorie, then at Marlowe and Alma Hillman. 
She was a very pretty girl with eyes that it was im- 
possible to control. Perhaps there was somewhat of 
the flirt in her. It was not that that interested 
me. For there was something almost akin to jeal- 
ousy in the look she gave the other woman. Mar- 
lowe was too engrossed to see her and she passed 
on slowly. What did it mean, if anything? 

The conversation, as usual at such times, con- 
sisted mostly of witticisms, and just at present we 
had a rather serious bit of business in hand. Ken- 
nedy did not betray any of the impatience that I 
felt, yet I knew he was glad when Marlowe excused 
himself and we left the party and passed down the 
'corridor while the captain called his car. 

“I don’t know how you are going to get at this 
thing,” he remarked, pausing after he had sent a boy 
for his driver. “But I’ll have to rely on you. I’ve 
told you all I know. I’ll see you at noon, at the 
yards. My man will take you there.” 

As he turned and left us I saw that he was going 
252 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


in the direction of the barber-shop. Next to it and 
in connection with it, though in a separate room, 
was a manicure. As we passed we looked in. There, 
at the manicure’s table, sat the girl who had gone 
by us in the parlor and had looked so sharply at 
Marlowe and Alma. 

The boy had told us that the car was waiting at a 
side entrance, but Kennedy seemed now in no haste 
to go, the more so when Marlowe, instead of going 
into the barber-shop, apparently changed his mind 
and entered the manicure’s. Craig stopped and 
watched. From where we were we could see Mar- 
lowe, though his back was turned, and neither he 
nor the manicure could see us. 

For a moment the captain paused and spoke, 
then sat down. Quite evidently he had a keen eye 
for a pretty face and trim figure. Nor was there any 
mistaking the pains which the manicure took to 
please her rich and elderly customer. After watch- 
ing them a moment Kennedy lounged over to the 
desk in the lobby. 

“Who is the little manicure girl?” he asked. 

The clerk smiled. “Seems as if she was a good 
drawing-card for the house, doesn’t it?” he returned. 
“All the men notice her. Why, her name is Rae 
Melzer.” He turned to speak to another guest 
before Kennedy could follow with another inquiry. < 

As we stood before the desk, a postman, with the ' 
parcel post, arrived. “Here’s a package addressed 
to Dr. Fernando Gavira,” he said, brusquely. “It 
was broken in the mail. See?” 

Kennedy, waiting for the clerk to be free again, 
glanced casually at the package at first, then with 
253 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


a sudden, though concealed, interest. I followed his 
eye. In the crushed box could be seen some thin 
broken pieces of glass and a wadding of cotton- wool. 

As the clerk signed for another package Craig 
saw a chance, reached over and abstracted two or 
three of the broken pieces of glass, then turned with 
his back to the postman and clerk and examined 
them. 

One I saw at once had a rim around it. It was 
quite apparently the top of a test-tube. The other, 
to which some cotton-wool still adhered, was part of 
the rounded bowl. Quickly Craig dropped the pieces 
into one of the hotel envelopes that stood in a rack 
on the desk, then, changing his mind about asking 
more now about the little manicure, strode out of the 
side entrance where Marlowe’s car was waiting for us. 

Hurriedly we drove across town to the City Hospi- 
tal, where we had no difficulty in being admitted and 
finding, in a ward, on a white cot, the wounded 
guard. Though his wound was one that should not 
have bothered him much, it had, as Marlowe said, 
puffed up angrily and in a most peculiar manner. 
He was in great pain with it and was plainly in a 
bad way. 

Though he questioned the man, Craig did not 
get anything out of him except that the shot had 
come from a cruiser which had been hanging about 
and was much faster than the patrol boat. The 
nurse and a young intern seemed inclined to be 
reticent, as though we might imply that the man’s 
condition reflected on the care he had received, which 
they were at pains to convince us had been perfect. 

Puzzled himself, Craig did not say much, but as 
254 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


he pondered the case, shook his head gravely to 
himself and finally walked out of the hospital 
abstractedly. 

“We have almost an hour before we are to meet 
Marlowe at the yard,” he considered, as we came to 
the car. “I think I’ll go up to the laboratory first.” 

In the quiet of his own workshop, Kennedy care- 
fully examined again the peculiar grooves on the 
bullet. He was about to scrape it, but paused. In- 
stead, he filled a tube with a soapy solution, placed 
the bullet in it, and let it stand. Next he did the 
same with the pieces of glass from the envelope. 

Then he opened a drawer and from a number of 
capillary pipettes selected a plain capillary tube of 
glass. He held it in the flame of a burner until it 
was red hot. Then carefully he drew out one end 
of the tube until it was hair fine. Again he heated 
the other end, but this time he let the end alone, 
except that he allowed it to bend by gravity, then 
cool. It now had a siphon curve. Another tube he 
treated in the same way. 

By this time he was ready to proceed with what 
he had in mind. He took a glass slide and on it 
placed a drop from each of the tubes containing the 
bullet and the glass. That done, he placed the bent, 
larger end of the capillary tubes in turn on each of 
the drops on the slide. The liquid ascended the 
tubes by capillary attraction and siphoned over the ; 
curve, running as he turned the tubes up to the 
finely pointed ends. 

Next in a watch glass he placed some caustic soda 
and in another some pyrogallic acid, from each of 
which he took just a drop, as he had done before, 
255 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


inclining the tubes to let the fluid gravitate to the 
throttle end. Finally in the flame he sealed both 
the tip and butt of the tubes. 

“There’s a bubble of air in there,” he remarked. 
“The acid and the soda will absorb the oxygen from 
it. Then I can tell whether I’m right. By the way, 
we’ll have to hurry if we’re to be on time to meet 
Marlowe in the yard,” he announced, glancing at 
his watch as he placed the tubes in his little electric 
incubator. 

We were a little late as the chauffeur pulled in at 
the executive offices at the gate of the shipyard, and 
Marlowe was waiting impatiently for us. Evidently 
he wanted action, but Kennedy said nothing yet of 
what he suspected and appeared now to be interested 
only in the yard. 

It was indeed something to interest any one. 
Everywhere were tokens of feverish activity, in 
office, shop, and slip. As we picked our way across, 
little narrow and big wide gauge engines and trains 
whistled and steamed about. We passed rolling- 
mills, forging-machines, and giant shearing-machines, 
furnaces for heating the frames or ribs, stone floors 
on which they could be pegged out and bent to shape, 
places for rolling and trimming the plates, every- 
thing needed from the keel plates to the deck. 

In the towering superstructure of the building 
slip we at last came to the huge steel monster itself, 
the Usona. As we approached, above us rose her 
bow, higher than a house, with poppets both there 
and at the stern, as well as bracing to support her. 
All had been done up to the launching, the stem and 
stern posts set in place, her sides framed and plated 
256 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


up, decks laid, bulkheads and casings completed, 
even much of her internal fitting done. 

Overhead and all about the huge monster was a 
fairy network of steel, the vast permanent con- 
struction of columns and overhead girders. Sus- 
pended beneath was a series of tracks carrying 
traveling and revolving cranes capable of handling 
the heaviest pieces. We climbed to the top and 
looked down at the vast stretch of hundreds of feet 
of deck. It was so vast that it seemed rather the 
work of a su’perman than of the puny little humans 
working on her. 

As I looked down the slip where the Usona stood 
inclined about half an inch to the foot, I appreciated 
as never before what a task it was merely to get her 
into the water. 

Below again, Marlowe explained to us how the 
launching ways were composed of the ground ways, 
fastened to the ground as the name implied, and the 
sliding ways that were to move over them. The 
sliding ways, he said, were composed of a lower 
course and an upper course, on which rested the 
“cradle,” fitting closely the side of the ship. 

To launch her, she must be lifted slightly by the 
sliding ways and cradle from the keel blocks and 
bilge blocks, and this was done by oak wedges, hun- 
dreds of which we could see jammed between the,' 
upper and lower courses of sliding ways. Next he 
pointed out the rib-bands which were to keep the 
sliding ways on the ground ways, and at the bow the 
points on either side where the sliding and ground 
ways were bolted together by two huge timbers 
known as sole pieces. 

257 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“You see,” he concluded, “it is a gigantic task 
to lift thousands of tons of steel and literally carry 
it a quarter of a mile to forty feet of water in less 
than a minute. Everything has to be calculated to 
a nicety. It’s a matter of mathematics — the mo- 
ment of weight, the moment of buoyancy, and all 
that. This launching apparatus is strong, but com- 
pared to the weight it has to carry it is really deli- 
cate. Why, even a stray bolt in the ways would be 
a serious matter. That’s why we have to have this 
eternal vigilance.” 

As he spoke with a significant look at Kennedy, I 
felt that it was no wonder that Marlowe was alarmed 
for the safety of the ship. Millions were at stake for 
just that minute of launching. 

It was all very interesting and we talked with men 
whom it was a pleasure to see handling great prob' 
lems so capably. But none could shed any light on 
the problem which it was Kennedy’s to solve. And 
yet I felt sure, as I watched Craig, that unsatisfactory 
as it appeared to Marlowe and to myself, he was 
slowly forming some kind of theory, or at least plan 
of action, in his head. 

“You’ll find me either here or at the hotel — I 
imagine,” returned Marlowe to Kennedy’s inquiry 
as we parted from him. ‘ * I’ve instructed all the men 
to keep their eyes open. I hope some of us have 
something to report soon.” 

Whether or not the remark was intended as a 
hint to Kennedy, it was unnecessary. He was work- 
ing as fast and as surely as he could, going over in 
hours what others had failed to fathom in weeks. 

Late in the afternoon we got back to the laboratory 
258 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


and Craig began immediately by taking from the 
little electric incubator the two crooked tubes he 
had left there. Breaking off the ends with tweezers, 
he began examining on slides the two drops that 
exuded, using his most powerful microscope. I was 
forced to curb my impatience as he proceeded care- 
fully, but I knew that Craig was making sure of his 
ground at each step. 

“I suppose you’re bursting with curiosity,” he 
remarked at last, looking up from his examination of 
one of the slides. “Well, here is a drop that shows 
what was in the grooves of that bullet. Just take a 
look.” 

I applied my eye to the microscope. All I could 
see was some dots and rods, sometimes something 
that looked like chains of dots and rods, the rods 
straight with square ends, sometimes isolated, but 
more usually joined end to end in long strings. 

“What is it?” I asked, not much enlightened by 
what he had permitted me to see. 

“Anaerobic bacilli and spores,” he replied, ex- ! 
citedly. “The things that produce the well-known 
‘gas gangrene’ of the trenches, the gas phlegmon 
bacilli — all sorts, the bacillus aerogenes capsulatus, 
bacillus proteus, pyogenic cocci, and others, actively 
gas-forming microbes that can’t live in air. The 
method I took to develop and discover them was 
that of Col. Sir Almroth Wright of the British army , 
medical corps.” 

“And that is what was on the bullet?” I queried. 

“The spores or seeds,” he replied. “In the tubes, 
by excluding the air, I have developed the bacilli. 
Why, Walter,” he went on, seriously, “those are 
259 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


among the microbes most dreaded in the infection of 
wounds. The spores live in the earth, it has been 
discovered, especially in cultivated soil, and they 
are extraordinarily long-lived, lying dormant for 
years, waiting for a chance to develop. These rods 
you saw are only from five to fifteen thousandths of 
a millimeter long and not more than one-thousandth 
of a millimeter broad. 

“You can’t see them move here, because the air 
has paralyzed them. But these vibrios move among 
the corpuscles of the blood just as a snake mo^es 
through the grass, to quote Pasteur. If I colored 
them you would see that each is covered with fine 
vibrating hairs three or four times as long as itself. 
At certain times an oval mass forms in them. That 
is the spore which lives so long and is so hard to 
kill. It was the spores that were on the bullet. They 
resist any temperature except comparatively high 
and prolonged, and even resist antiseptics for a long 
time. On the surface of a wound they aren’t so 
bad; but deep in they distil minute gas bubbles, 
puff up the surrounding tissues, and are almost im- 
possible to combat.” 

As he explained what he had found, I could only 
stare at him while the diabolical nature of the attack 
impressed itself on my mind. Some one had tried 
to murder Marlowe in this most hideous way. No 
need to be an accurate marksman when a mere 
scratch from such a bullet meant ultimate death 
anyhow. 

Why had it been done and where had, the cultures 
come from? I asked myself. I realized fully the 
difficulty of trying to trace them. Any one could 
260 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


purchase germs, I knew. There was no law govern- 
ing the sale. 

Craig was at work again over his microscope. 
Again he looked up at me. “Here on this other film 
I find the same sort of wisp-like anaerobes,” he an- 
nounced. ‘ ‘ There was the same thing on those pieces 
of glass that I got.” 

In my horror at the discovery, I had forgotten the 
broken package that had come to the hotel desk 
while we stood there. 

“Then it was Gavira who was receiving spores 
and cultures of the anaerobes!” I exclaimed, ex- 
citedly. 

“But that doesn’t prove that it was he who used 
them,” cautioned Craig, adding, “not yet, at least.” 

Important as the discoveries were which he had 
made, I was not much farther along in fixing the 
guilt of anybody in particular in the case. Kennedy, 
however, did n<»t seem to be perturbed, though I 
wondered what theory he could have worked out. 

‘ ‘ I think the best thing for us to do will be to run 
over to the Belleclaire,” he decided as he doffed his 
laboratory coat and carefully cleansed his hands in 
an antiseptic almost boiling hot. “I should like to 
see Marlowe again, and, besides, there we can watch 
some of these people around him.” 

Whom he meant other than Gavira I had no idea, 
but I felt sure that with the launching now only 9 
matter of hours something was bound to happen 
soon. 

Marlowe was out when we arrived; in fact, had 
not yet returned from the yard. Nor had many of 
the guests remained at the hotel during the day. 

18 261 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Most of them had been out sightseeing, though now 
they were returning, and as they began to gather in 
the hotel parlor Marjorie was again called on to 
put them at their ease. 

Fitzhugh had returned and had wasted no time 
dressing and getting down-stairs again to be near 
Marjorie. Gavira also appeared, having been out 
on a case. 

“I wish you would call up the shipyard, Walter,” 
asked Kennedy, as we stood in the lobby, where we 
could see best what was going on. “Tell him I 
would like to see him very urgently.” 

I found the number and entered a booth, but, as 
often happens, the telephone central was over- 
whelmed by the rush of early-evening calls, and after 
waiting some time the only satisfaction I got w r as 
that the line was busy. 

Meanwhile I decided to stick about the booth so 
that I could get the yard as soon as possible. From 
where I stood I could see that Kennedy was closely 
watching the little manicure, Rae Melzer. A mo- 
ment later I saw Alma Hillman come out of the 
manicure shop, and before any one else could get in 
to monopolize the fascinating little manicure I saw 
Craig saunter over and enter. 

I was so interested in what he was doing that for 
the moment I forgot about my call and found my- 
self unconsciously moving over in that direction, 
too. As I looked in I saw that he was seated at the 
little white table, in much the same position as Mar- 
lowe had been, deeply in ^conversation with the girl, 
though of course I could not make out what they 
were talking about. 

o6}2 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


Once she turned to reach something on a shelf 
back of her. Quick as a flash Kennedy abstracted a 
couple of the nearest implements, one being a nail 
file and the other, I think, a brush. A moment 
later she resumed her work, Kennedy still talking 
and joking with her, though furtively observing. 

“Where is my nail file — and brush?” I could 
imagine her saying, as she hunted for them in pretty 
confusion, aided by Kennedy who, when he wanted 
to, could act the Fitzhugh and Gavira as well as they. 
The implements were not to be found and from a 
drawer she took another set. 

Just then Gavira passed on his way to his office in 
the front of the building, saw me, and smiled. ‘ ‘ Ken- 
nedy’s cut you out,” he laughed, catching a glimpse 
through the door. “Never mind. I used to think 
I had some influence there myself — till the captain 
came along. I tell you these oldsters can give us 
points.” 

I laughed, too, and joined him down the hall, not 
because I cared what he thought, but because his 
presence had reminded me of my original mission to 
call up Marlowe. However, I decided to postpone 
calling another moment and take advantage of the 
chance to talk to the house physician. 

“Yes,” I agreed, as long as he had opened the 
subject. “I fancy the captain likes young people. 
He seems to enjoy being with them — Miss Hillman, 
for instance.” 

Gavira shot a sidelong glance at me. “The 
Belleclaire’s a dangerous place for a wealthy wid- 
ower,” he returned. “I had some hopes in that 
direction myself — in spite of Fitzhugh — but the 
263 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


captain seems to leave us all at the post. Still, I 
suppose I may still be a brother to her — and phy- 
sician. So, I should worry.” 

The impression I got of Gavira was that he en- 
joyed his freedom too much ever to fall in love, 
though an intimacy now and then with a clever girl 
' like Alma Hillman was a welcome diversion. 

“I’m sorry I sha’n’t be able to be with you until 
late to-night,” he said, as he paused at his office 
door. “I’m in the medical corps of the Guard and 
I promised to lecture to-night on gunshot wounds. 
Some of my material got smashed up, but I have 
my lantern slides, anyhow. I’ll try to see you all 
later, though.” 

Was that a clever attempt at confession and 
avoidance on his part? I wondered. But, then, I 
reflected he could not possibly know that we knew 
he had anaerobic microbes and spores in his posses- 
sion. I had cleared up nothing and I hastened to 
call up the shipyard, sure that the line could not 
be busy still. 

Whatever it was that was the matter, central 
seemed unable to get me my number. Instead, I 
found myself cut right into a conversation that did 
not concern me, evidently the fault of the hotel 
switchboard operator. I was about to protest when 
jthe words I heard stopped me in surprise. A man 
and a woman were talking, though I could not recog- 
nize the voices and no names were used. 

“I tell you I won’t be a party to that launching 
scheme, ’ ’ I heard the man’s voice. ‘ ‘ I wash my hands 
of it. I told you that all along.” 

“Then you’re going to desert us?” came back the 
264 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


woman’s voice, rather tartly. “It’s for that girl. 
Well, you’ll regret it. I’ll turn the whole organiza- 
tion on you — I will — you — you — ” The voices 
trailed off, and, try as I could to get the operator to 
find out who it was, I could not. 

Who was it ? What did it mean ? 

Kennedy had finished with the manicure some 
time before and was waiting for me impatiently. 

“I haven’t been able to get Marlowe,” I hastened, 
“but I’ve had an earful.” He listened keenly as I 
told him what I had heard, adding also the account 
of my encounter with Gavira. 

“It’s just as I thought — I’ll wager,” he muttered, 
excitedly, under his breath, taking a hurried turn 
down the corridor, his face deeply wrinkled. 

“Well! Anything new? I expected to hear from 
you, but haven’t,” boomed the deep voice of Mar- 
lowe, who had just come in from an entrance in 
another direction from that which we were pacing. 
“No clue yet to my crank?” 

Without a word, Kennedy drew Marlowe aside 
into a little deserted alcove. Marlowe followed, 
puzzled at the air of mystery. 

Alone, Craig leaned over toward him. “It’s no 
crank,” he whispered, in a low tone. “Marlowe, I 
am convinced that there is a concerted effort to 
destroy your plans for American commerce building. 
There isn’t the slightest doubt in my mind that it is 
more serious than you think — perhaps a powerful 
group of European steamship men opposed to you. 
It is economic war! You know they have threatened 
it at meetings reported in the press all along. Well, 
it’s here!” 


265 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Half doubting, half convinced, Marlowe drew 
back. One after another he shot a rapid fire of 
questions. Who, then, was their agent who had 
fired the shot? Who was it who had deserted, as I 
had heard over the wire? Above all, what was it 
they had planned for the launching? The deeper 
he got the more the beads of perspiration came out 
on his sunburnt forehead. The launching was only 
eighteen hours off, too, and ten of them were dark- 
ness. What could be done? 

Kennedy’s mind was working rapidly in the crisis 
as Marlowe appealed to him, almost helplessly. 

“May I have your car to-night?” asked Craig, 
pausing. 

‘ ‘ Have it ? I’ll give it to you if it ’ll do any good.” 

“I’ll need it only a few hours. I think I have a 
scheme that will work perfectly — if you are sure you 
can ‘guard the inside of the yard to-morrow.” 

“I’m sure of that. We spent hours to-day select- 
ing picked men for the launching, going over every- 
thing.” 

Late as it was to start out of town, Craig drove 
across the bridge and out on Long Island, never 
stopping until we came to a small lake, around the 
shores of which he skirted, at last pausing before a 
huge bam-like structure. 

As the door swung open to his honking the horn, 
the light which streamed forth shone on a sign 
above, “Sprague Aviation School.” Inside I could 
make out enough to be sure that it was an aeroplane 
hangar. 

“Hello, Sprague!” called Kennedy, as a man ap- 
peared in the light. 

266 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


The man came closer. '‘Why, hello, Kennedy! 
What brings you out here at such an hour?” 

Craig had jumped from the car, and together the 
two went into the hangar, while I followed. They 
talked in low tones, but as nearly as I could make 
out Kennedy was hiring a hydro-aeroplane for to- 
morrow with as much nonchalance as if it had been 
a taxicab. 

As Kennedy and his acquaintance, Sprague, came 
to terms, my eye fell on a peculiar gun set up in a 
comer. It had a tremendous cylinder about the 
barrel, as though it contained some device to cool it. 
It was not a machine-gun of the type I had seen, 
however, yet cartridges seemed to be fed to it from 
a disk on which they were arranged radially rather 
than from a band. Kennedy had risen to go and 
looked about at me. 

“Oh, a Lewis gun!” he exclaimed, seeing what I 
was looking at. “That’s an idea. Sprague, can you 
mount that on the plane?” 

Sprague nodded. “That’s what I have it here 
for,” he returned. “I’ve been testing it. Why, do 
you want it?” 

“Indeed I do! I’ll be out here early in the morn- 
ing, Sprague.” 

“I’ll be ready for you, sir,” promised the aviator. 

Speeding back to the city, Kennedy laid out an 
extensive program for me to follow on the morrow. 
Together we arranged an elaborate series of signals, 
and that night, late as it was, Craig returned to the 
laboratory, where he continued his studies with the 
microscope, though what more he expected to dis- 
cover I did not know. 


267 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


In spite of his late hours, it was Craig who wakened 
me in the morning, already prepared to motor out 
to the aviation school to meet Sprague. Hastily he 
rehearsed our signals, which consisted mostly of 
dots and dashes in the Morse code which Craig was 
to convey with a flag and I to receive with the aid' 
of a powerful glass. 

I must admit that I felt somewhat lost when, 
later in the morning, I took my place alone on the 
platform that had been built for the favored few of 
the launching party at the bow of the huge Usona , 
without Craig. Already, however, he had communi- 
cated at least a part of his plan to Marlowe, and the 
captain and Marjorie were among the first to arrive. 
Marjorie never looked prettier in her life than she 
did now, on the day when she was to christen the 
great liner, nor, I imagine, had the captain ever 
been more proud of her. 

They had scarcely greeted me when we heard a 
shout from the men down at the end of the slip that 
commanded a freer view of the river. We craned 
our necks and in a moment saw what it was. They 
had sighted the air-boat coming down the river. 

I turned the glass on the mechanical bird as it 
soared closer. Already Kennedy had made us on 
the platform and had begun to signal as a test. At 
least a part of the suspense was over for me when I 
discovered that I could read what he sent. 

So fixed had my attention been that I had not 
noticed that slowly the members of the elect launch- 
ing party had arrived, while other thousands of the 
less favored crowded into the spaces set apart for 
them. On the stand now with us were Fitzhugh and 
268 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 

Miss Hillman, while, between glances at Kennedy, I 
noticed little Rae Melzer over at the right, and 
Doctor Gavira, quite in his element, circulating 
about from one group to another. 

Every one seemed to feel that thrill that comes 
with a launching, the appreciation that there is a 
maximum of risk in a minimum of time. 

Down the slip the men were driving home the 
last of the huge oak wedges which lifted the great 
Usona from the blocks and transferred her weight 
to the launching ways as a new support. All along 
the stationary, or ground, ways and those which were 
to glide into the water with the cradle and the 
ship, trusted men were making the final examination 
to be as sure as human care can be that all was well. 

As the clock neared noon, which was high water, 
approximately, all the preparatory work was done. 
Only the sole pieces before us held the ship in place. 
It was as though all bridges had been burned. 

High overhead now floated the hydro-aeroplane, 
on which I kept my eye fixed almost hypnotically. 
There was still no signal from Kennedy, however. 
What was it he was after? Did he expect to see the 
fast express cruiser, lurking like a corsair about the 
islands of the river? If so, he gave no sign. 

Men were quitting now the work of giving the last 
touches to the preparations. Some were placing 
immense jack-screws which were to give an initial 
impulse if it were needed to start the ship down the 
ways. Others were smearing the last heavy dabs of 
tallow, lard oil, and soft soap on the ways, and 
graphite where the ways stretched two hundred feet 
or so out into the water, for the ship was to travel 
269 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


some hundreds of feet on the land and in the water, 
and perhaps an equal distance out beyond the end 
of the ways. 

Late comers still crowded in. Men now reported 
that everything was ready. Steadily the time of 
high water approached. 

“Saw the sole pieces!” finally rang out the 
order. 

That was a thing that must be done by two gangs, 
one on each side, and evenly, too. If one gang got 
ahead of the other, they must stop and let the 
second catch up. 

“Zip — zip — zip,” came the shrill singing tone of 
the saws. 

Was everything all right? Kennedy and Sprague 
were still circling overhead, at various altitudes. 
I redoubled my attention at the glass. 

Suddenly I saw Craig’s flag waving frantically. 
A muffled exclamation came from my lips involun- 
tarily. Marlowe, who had been watching me, leaned 
closer. 

“What is it — for God’s sake?” he whispered, 
hoarsely. 

“Stop them!” I shouted as I caught Kennedy’s 
signal. At a hurried order from Marlowe the gangs 
quit. A hush fell over the crowd, 

Kennedy was circling down now until at last the 
air-boat rested on the water and skimmed along 
toward the ways. 

Out on the ways, as far as they were not yet sub- 
merged, some men ran, as if to meet him, but Kennedy 
began signaling frantically again. Though I had 
not been expecting it, I made it out. 

270 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


“He wants them to keep back,” I called, and the 
word was passed down the length of the ship. 

Instead of coming to rest before the slip, the plane 
turned and went away, making a complete circle, 
then coming to rest. To the surprise of every one, 
the rapid staccato bark of the Lewis gun broke the 
silence. Kennedy was evidently firing, but at what? 
There was nothing in sight. 

Suddenly there came a tremendous detonation, 
which made even the launching-slip tremble, and a 
huge column of water, like a geyser, rose in the air 
about eight hundred feet out in the river, directly 
in front of us. 

The truth flashed over us in an instant. There, 
ten feet or so in the dark water out in the river, 
Craig had seen a huge circular object, visible only 
against a sandy bottom from the hydro-aeroplane 
above, as the sun-rays were reflected through the 
water. It was a contact submarine mine. 

Marlowe looked at me, his face almost pale. The 
moment the great hulk of the Usona in its wild flight 
to the sea would have hit that mine, tilting it, she 
would have sunk in a blast of flame. 

The air-boat now headed for the shore, and a few 
moments later, as Craig climbed into our stand, 
Marlowe seized him in congratulation too deep for 
words. 

“Is it all right?” sang out one of the men in the 
gangs, less impressionable than the rest. 

“If there is still water enough,” nodded Craig. 

Again the order to saw away the sole pieces was 
given, and the gangs resumed. “Zip — zip,” again 
went the two saws. 


271 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


There were perhaps two inches more left, when 
the hull quivered. There was a crashing and rending 
as the timbers broke away. 

Marjorie Marlowe, alert, swung the bottle of 
champagne in its silken net on a silken cord and it 
crashed on the bow as she cried, gleefully, ‘ ‘ I christen 
thee Usona /” 

Down the ship slid, with a slow, gliding motion at 
first, rapidly gathering headway. As her stem sank 
and finally the bow dipped into the water, cheers 
broke forth. Then a cloud of smoke hid her. There 
was an ominous silence. Was she wrecked, at last, 
after all ? A puff of wind cleared the smoke. 

“Just the friction of the ways — set the grease on 
fire,” shouted Marlowe. “It always does that.” 

Wedges, sliding ways, and other parts of the cradle 
floated to the surface. The tide took her and tugs 
crept up and pulled her to the place selected for 
temporary mooring. A splash of a huge anchor, and 
there she rode — safe! 

In the revulsion of feeling, every eye on the plat- 
form turned involuntarily to Kennedy. Marlowe, 
still holding his hand, was speechless. Marjorie 
leaned forward, almost hysterical. 

“Just a moment,” called Craig, as some turned to 
go down. “There is just one thing more.” 

There was a hush as the crowd pressed close. 

“There’s a conspiracy here,” rang out Craig’s 
voice, boldly, “a foreign trade war. From the start 
I suspected something and I tried to reason it out. 
Having failed to stop the work, failed to kill Marlowe 
— what was left? Why, the launching. How? I 
knew of that motor-boat. What else could they do 
272 


THE SUBMARINE MINE 


with it? I thought of recent tests that have been 
made with express cruisers as mine-planters. Could 
that be the scheme? The air-boat scheme occurred 
to me late last night. It at least was worth trying. 
You see what has happened. Now for the reckoning. 
Who was their agent? I have something here that 
will interest you.” 

Kennedy was speaking rapidly. It was one of 
those occasions in which Kennedy’s soul delighted. 
Quickly he drew a deft contrast between the infinitely 
large hulk of the Usona as compared to the infinitely 
small bacteria which he had been studying the day 
before. Suddenly he drew forth from his pocket the 
bullet that had been fired at Marlowe, then, to the 
surprise of even myself, he quietly laid a delicate 
little nail file and brush in the palm of his hand be- 
side the bullet. * 

A suppressed cry from Rae Melzer caused me to 
recollect the file and brush she had missed. 

“Just a second,” raced on Kennedy. “On this 
file and brush I found spores of those deadly an- 
aerobes — dead, killed by heat and an antiseptic, 
perhaps a one-per-cent, solution of carbolic acid at 
blood heat, ninety-eight degrees — dead, but never- 
theless there. I suppose the microscopic examina- 
tion of finger-nail deposits is too minute a thing to 
appeal to most people. But it has been practically 
applied in a number of criminal cases in Europe. Or- 
dinary washing and even cleaning doesn’t alter 
microscope findings. In this case this trifling clue 
is all that leads to the real brain of this plot, 
literally to the hand that directed it.” He paused 
a moment. 


273 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“Yesterday I found that anaerobe cultures were 
being received by some one in the Belleclaire, and — ” 

‘ ‘ They were stolen from me. Some one must have 
got into my office, where I was studying them.” 
Doctor Gavira had pressed forward earnestly, but 
Craig did not pause again. 

“Who were these agents sent over to wage this 
secret war at any cost ?’ ’ he repeated. ‘ ‘ One of them, 
I know now, fell in love with the daughter of the 
man against whom he was to plot.” Marjorie cast 
a furtive glance at Fitzhugh. 

“ Love has saved him. But the other? To whom 
do these deadly germs point? Who dum-dummed 
and poisoned the bullet ? Whose own fingers, in spite 
of antiseptics and manicures, point inexorably to a 
guilty self?” 

Rae Melzer could restrain herself no longer. She 
was looking at the file and brush, as if with a hideous 
fascination. “They are mine — you took them,” she 
cried, impulsively. “It was she — always having her 
nails manicured — she who had been there just be- 
fore — she — Alma Hillman!” 


XI 


THE GUN-RUNNER 

W ITH the treaty ratified, if the deal goes 
through we’ll all be rich.” 

Something about the remark which rose over the 
babel of voices arrested Kennedy’s attention. For 
one thing, it was a woman’s voice, and it was not the 
sort of remark to be expected from a woman, at 
least not in such a place. 

Craig had been working pretty hard and began to 
show the strain. We had taken an evening off and 
now had dropped in after the theater at the Burridge, 
one of the most frequented midnight resorts on 
Broadway. 

At the table next to us — and the tables at the 
Burridge were so close that one almost rubbed elbows 
with those at the next — sat a party of four, two 
ladies in evening gowns and two men in immaculate 
black and white. 

“I hope you are right, Leontine,” returned one of 
the men, with an English accent. “The natural place 
for the islands is under the American flag, anyway.” 

“Yes,” put in the other; “the people have voted 
for it before. They want it.” 

It was at the time that the American and 
Danish governments were negotiating about the 
275 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


transfer of the Danish West Indies, and quite evi- 
dently they were discussing the islands. The last 
speaker seemed to be a Dane, but the woman with 
him, evidently his wife, was not. It was a curious 
group, worth more than a passing glance. For a 
moment Craig watched them closely. 

“That woman in blue,” he whispered, “is a typical 
promoter.” 

I recognized the type which is becoming increas- 
ingly frequent in Wall Street as the competition in 
financial affairs grows keener and women enter 
business and professional life. 

There were plenty of other types in the brilliantly 
lighted dining-room, and we did not dwell long on 
the study of our neighbors. A few moments later 
Kennedy left me and was visiting another table. It 
was a habit of his, for he had hundreds of friends and 
acquaintances, and the Burridge was the place to 
which every one came. 

This time I saw that he had stopped before some 
one whom I recognized. It was Captain Marlowe 
of the American Shipping Trust, to whom Kennedy 
had been of great assistance at the time of the launch- 
ing of his great ship, the Usona. Marlowe’s daughter 
Marjorie was not with him, having not yet returned 
from her honeymoon trip, and he was accompanied 
by a man whose face was unfamiliar to me. 

As I recognized who it was to whom Kennedy was 
speaking, I also rose and made my way over to the 
table. As I approached, the captain turned from 
Kennedy and greeted me cordially. 

“Mr. Whitson,” he introduced the man with him. 
“Mr. Whitson is sailing to-morrow for St. Thomas 
276 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


on the Arroyo. We’re preparing to extend our 
steamship lines to the islands as soon as the formali- 
ties of the purchase are completed.” 

Marlowe turned again to Kennedy and went on 
with the remark he had evidently been making. 

“Of course,” I heard him say, “you know we have 
Mexico practically blockaded as far as arms and 
munitions go. Yet, Kennedy, through a secret 
channel I know that thousands of stands of arms 
and millions of rounds of ammunition are filtering 
in there. It’s shameful. I can’t imagine anything 
more traitorous. Whoever is at the bottom of it 
ought to swing. It isn’t over the border that they 
are going. We know that. The troops are there. 
How is it, then?” 

Marlowe looked at us as if he expected Kennedy 
to catch some one by pure reason. Kennedy said 
nothing, but it was not because he was not interested. 

“Think it over,” pursued Marlowe, who was a 
patriot above everything else. “Perhaps it will 
occur to you how you can be of the greatest service to 
the country. The thing is damnable — damnable.” 

Neither Kennedy nor I having anything definite 
to contribute to the subject, the conversation drifted 
to the islands and Whitson’s mission. Whitson 
proved to be very enthusiastic about it. He knew 
the islands well and had already made a trip there 
for Marlowe. 

A few moments later we shook hands and returned 
to our own table. It was getting late and the only 
type that was left to study was the common Broad- 
way midnight-life genus. We paid our check and 
were about to leave. For an instant we stopped at 

19 2 77 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the coat-room to watch the late arrivals and the 
departing throng. 

‘ ‘ Hello !” greeted a familiar voice beside us. “I’ve 
been looking all over town for you. They told me 
you had gone to the theater and I thought I might 
possibly find you here.” 

We turned. It was our old friend Burke, of the 
Secret Sen/ice, accompanied by a stranger. 

“I’d like you to meet Mr. Sydney, the new special 
consular agent whom the government is sending to 
the Danish West Indies to investigate and report 
on trade conditions,” he introduced. “We’re off 
for St. Thomas on the Arroyo, which sails to-morrow 
noon.” 

“Great Scott!” ejaculated Kennedy. “Is every- 
body daffy over those little islands? What takes 
you down there, Burke?” Burke looked about 
hastily, then drew us aside into a recess in the lobby. 

“I don’t suppose you know,” he explained, lower- 
ing his voice, “but since these negotiations began, 
the consular service has been keenly interested in 
the present state and the possibilities of the islands. 
The government sent one special agent there, named 
Dwight. Well, he died a few days ago. It was very 
suspicious, so much so that the authorities in the 
island investigated. Yet the doctors in the island 
have found no evidence of anything wrong, no 
poison. Still, it is very mysterious — and, you know, ’ ’ 
he hinted, “there are those who don’t want us down 
there.” 

The Secret Service man paused as though he had 
put the case as briefly and pointedly as he could, 
then went on: “I’ve been assigned to accompany 
278 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


the new consul down there and investigate. I’ve 
no particular orders and the chief will honor any 
reasonable expense account — but — ” Pie hesitated 
and stopped, looking keenly at Kennedy’s face. I 
saw what he was driving at. 

“Well — to come to the point — what I wanted to 
see you about, Kennedy, is to find out whether you 
would go with me. I think,” he added, persuasively, 
“it would be quite worth your while. Besides, you 
look tired. You’re working too hard. The change 
will do you good. And your conscience needn’t 
trouble you. You’ll be working, all right.” 

Burke had been quick to note the haggard expres- 
sion on Kennedy’s face and turn it into an argument 
to carry his point. Kennedy smiled as he read the 
other’s enthusiasm. I would have added my own 
urging, only I knew that nothing but a sense of duty 
would weigh with Craig. 

“I’d like to think the proposal over,” he conceded, 
much to my surprise. “I’ll let you know in the 
morning.” 

“Mind,” wheedled Burke, “I won’t take no for an 
answer. We need you.” 

The Secret Service man was evidently delighted 
by the reception Kennedy had given his scheme. 

Just then I caught sight of the party of four getting 
their hats and wraps preparatory to leaving, and 
Kennedy eyed them sharply. 

Marlowe and Whitson passed. As they did so I 
could not help seeing Whitson pause and shoot a 
quick glance at the four. It was a glance of suspicion 
and it was not lost on Craig. Did they know more 
of this Mexican gun-running business than Marlowe 
279 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


had hinted at? I watched Kennedy’s face. Evi- 
dently his mind was at work on the same idea as 
mine. 

Burke accompanied us almost all the way home, 
with Sydney adding his urging. I could tell that the 
whole combination of circumstances at the Burridge 
had had an effect on Kennedy. 

I went to bed, tired, but through the night I knew 
Craig was engaged on some work about which he 
seemed to be somewhat secretive. When I saw him 
again in the laboratory, in the morning, he had 
before him a large packing-case of stout wood bound 
with steel bands. 

“What’s that?” I asked, mystified. He opened 
the lid, a sort of door, on which was a strong lock, 
and I looked inside. 

“My traveling laboratory,” he remarked, with 
pride. 

I peered in more closely. It was a well-stocked 
armamentarium, as the doctors would have called 
it. I shall not make any attempt to describe its 
contents. They were too varied and too numerous, 
a little bit of everything, it seemed. In fact, Craig 
seemed to have epitomized the sciences and arts. 
It was not that he had anything so wonderful, or 
even comparable to the collection of his laboratory. 
But as I ran my eye over the box I would have 
wagered that from the contents he might have made 
shift to duplicate in some makeshift form almost 
anything that he might need. It was truly amazing, 
representing in miniature his study of crime for years. 

“Then you are going with Burke to St. Thomas?” 
I queried, realizing the significance of it. 

280 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


Kennedy nodded. “I’ve been thinking of what I 
would do if an important case ever called me away. 
Burke’s proposal hurried me, that’s all. And you 
are going, also,” he added. “You have until noon 
to break the news to the Star.” 

I did not say anything more, fearful lest he might 
change his mind. I knew he needed the rest, and 
that no matter what the case was in the islands he 
could not work as hard as he was doing in New 
York. 

Accordingly my own arrangements with the Star 
were easily made. I had a sort of roving commission, 
anyhow, since my close association with Kennedy. 
Moreover, the possibility of turning up something 
good in the islands, which were much in the news 
at the time, rather appealed to the managing editor. 
If Kennedy could arrange his affairs, I felt that the 
least I could do was to arrange my own. 

Thus it came about that Craig and I found our- 
selves in the forenoon in a taxicab, on the front of 
which was loaded the precious box as well as our 
other hastily packed luggage, and we were on our 
way over to Brooklyn to the dock from which the 
Arroyo sailed. 

Already the clearance papers had been obtained, 
and there was the usual last-moment confusion 
among the passengers as the hour for sailing ap- 
proached. It seemed as if we had scarcely boarded 
the ship when Kennedy was as gay as a school-boy 
on an unexpected holiday. I realized at once what 
was the cause. The change of scene, the mere fact 
of cutting loose, were having their effect. 

As we steamed slowly down the bay, I ran my eye 
281 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

over the other passengers at the rail, straining their 
eyes to catch the last glimpse of the towers of New 
York. There were Burke and Sydney, but they 
were not together, and, to all appearances, did not 
know each other. Sydney, of course, could not con- 
ceal his identity, nor did he wish to, no matter how 
beset with unseen perils might be his mission. But 
Burke was down on the passenger-list as, and had 
assumed the role of, a traveling salesman for a myth- 
ical novelty-house in Chicago. That evidently was 
part of the plan they had agreed on between them- 
selves. Kennedy took the cue. 

As I studied the various groups, I paused sud- 
denly, surprised. There was the party which had 
sat at the table next to us at the Burridge the 
night before. Kennedy had already seen them and 
had been watching them furtively. 

Just then Craig jogged my elbow. He had caught 
sight of Whitson edging his way in our direction. 
I saw what it was that Craig meant. He wanted 
purposely to avoid him. I wondered why, but soon 
I saw what he was up to. He wanted introductions 
to come about naturally, as they do on shipboard if 
one only waits. 

On deck and in the lounging and smoking rooms 
it did not take long for him to contrive ways of 
meeting and getting acquainted with those he wished 
to know, without exciting suspicion. Thus, by the 
time we sat down to dinner in the saloon we were 
all getting fairly chummy. 

We had met Burke quite as naturally as if we 
were total strangers. It was easy to make it appear 
that Whitson and Sydney were shipboard ac- 
282 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


quaintances. Nor was it difficult to secure an intro- 
duction to the other party of four. The girl whom 
we had heard addressee?' as Leontine seemed to be 
the leader of the group. Leontine Cowell was a 
striking personality. Her clear blue eyes directed a 
gaze at one which tested one’s mettle to meet. I 
was never quite sure whether she remembered seeing 
us at the Burridge, whether she penetrated the parts 
we were playing. She was none the less feminine 
because she had aspirations in a commercial way. 
As Kennedy had first observed, she was well worth 
study. 

Her companion, Barrett Burleigh, was a polished, 
deferential Englishman, one of those who seem to 
be citizens of the world rather than subjects of any 
particular country. I wondered what were £he real 
relations of the two. 

Jorgen Erickson was, as I had surmised, a Dane. 
He proved to be one of the largest planters in the 
island, already wealthy and destined to be wealthier 
if real estate advanced. The other woman, Nanette, 
was his wife. She was also a peculiarly interesting 
type, a Frenchwoman from Guadeloupe. Younger 
and more vivacious than her husband, her snappy 
black eyes betokened an attractive personality. 

Leontine Cowell, it seemed, had been in the islands 
not long before, had secured options on some score 
of plantations at a low figure, and made no secret of 
her business. When the American flag at last flew 
over the islands she stood to win out of the increase 
of land values a considerable fortune; 

Erickson also, in addition to his own holdings, 
had been an agent for some other planters and thus 
283 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


had met Leontine, who had been the means of 
interesting some American capital. 

As for Burleigh, it seemed that he had made the 
acquaintance of Leontine in Wall Street. He had 
been in the Caribbean and the impending changes in 
the Danish West Indies had attracted his notice. 
Whether he had some money to invest in the specu- 
lation or hoped to profit by commissions derived 
from sales did not appear. But at any rate some 
common bond had thrown the quartet together. 

I need not dwell on the little incidents of life on 
ship. It must have been the second day out that I 
observed Leontine and Sydney together on the 
promenade-deck. They seemed to be quite interested 
in each other, though I felt sure that Leontine was 
making a play for him. At any rate, Burleigh was 
jealous. Whatever might be the scheme, it was ap- 
parent that the young Englishman was head over 
heels in love with her. 

What did it mean? Was she playing with Sydney, 
seeking to secure his influence to further her schemes ? 
Or did it mask some deeper, more sinister motive? 
From what I had seen of Sydney, I could not think 
that he was the man to take such an affair seriously. 
I felt that he must be merely amusing himself. 

Busy with my speculations, I was astonished soon 
after to realize that the triangle had become a 
hexagon, so to speak. Whitson and Nanette Erick- 
son seemed to be much in each other’s company. 
But, unlike Burleigh, Erickson seemed to be either 
oblivious or complacent. 

Whatever it might all portend, I found that it 
did not worry Kennedy, although he observed closely. 

284 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


Burke, however, was considerably excited and even 
went so far as to speak to Sydney, over whom he felt 
a sort of guardianship. Sydney turned the matter 
off lightly. As for me, I determined to watch both 
of these women closely. 

Kennedy spent much time not only in watching 
the passengers, but in going about the ship, talking 
to the captain and crew and every one who knew 
anything about the islands. In fact, he collected 
enough information in a few days to have satisfied 
any ordinary tourist for weeks. 

Even the cargo did not escape his attention, and I 
found that he was especially interested in the rather 
heavy shipments of agricultural implements that 
were consigned to various planters in the islands. 
So great was his interest that I began to suspect 
that it had some bearing on the gun-running plot 
that had been hinted at by Marlowe. 

It was the evening after one of Kennedy's busy 
days scouting about that he quietly summoned both 
Burke and Sydney to our cabin. 

“ There’s something queer going on,” announced 
Craig, when he was sure that we were all together 
without having been observed. “Frankly, I must 
confess that I don’t understand it — yet.” 

“You needn’t worry about me,” interrupted 
Sydney, hastily. “I can take care of myself.” 

Kennedy smiled quietly. We knew what Sydney 
meant. He seemed to resent Burke’s solicitude over 
his acquaintance with Leontine and was evidently 
warning us off. Kennedy, however, avoided the 
subject. 

“I may as well tell you,” he resumed, “that I 
285 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


was quite as much influenced by a rumor that arms 
were somehow getting into Mexican ports as I was 
by your appeal, Burke, in coming down here. So far 
I’ve found nothing that proves my case. But, as I 
said, there is something under the surface which I 
don’t understand. We have all got to stick together, 
trust no one but ourselves, and, above all, keep our 
eyes open.” 

It was all that was said, but I was relieved to note 
that Sydney seemed greatly impressed. Still, half 
an hour later, I saw him sitting in a steamer-chair 
beside Leontine again, watching the beautiful play 
of the moonlight on the now almost tropical ocean 
after we had emerged from the Gulf Stream. I felt 
that it was rather dangerous, but at least he had had 
his Earning. 

Seeking Kennedy, I found him at last in the smok- 
ing-room, to my surprise talking with Erickson. I 
joined them, wondering how I was to convey to 
Craig what I had just seen without exciting sus- 
picion. They were discussing the commercial and 
agricultural future of the islands under the American 
flag, especially the sugar industry, which had fallen 
into a low estate. 

“I suppose,” remarked Kennedy, casually, “that 
you are already modernizing your plant and that 
others are doing the same, getting ready for a 
revival.” 

Erickson received the remark stolidly. “No,” he 
replied, slowly. “Some of us may be doing so, but 
as for me, I shall be quite content to sell if I can get 
my price.” 

“The planters are not putting in modem ma- 
286 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


chinery, then?” queried Kennedy, innocently, while 
there flashed over me what he had discovered about 
shipments of agricultural implements. 

Erickson shook his head. ‘ ‘ Some of them may be. 
But for one that is, I know twenty whose only 
thought is to sell out and take a profit.” 

The conversation trailed off on other subjects and 
I knew that Kennedy had acquired the information 
which he sought. As neatly as I could I drew him 
apart from Erickson. 

“Strange he should tell me that,” ruminated 
Kennedy as we gained a quiet comer of the deck. 
“I know that there is a lot of stuff consigned to 
planters in the island, some even to himself.” 

“He must be lying, then,” I hastened. “Perhaps 
these promoters are really plotters. By the way, 
what I wanted to tell you was that I saw Sydney 
and Leontine together again.” 

He was about to reply when the sound of some 
one approaching caused us to draw back farther into 
the shadow. It proved to be Whitson and Nanette. 

“Then you do not like St. Thomas?” we heard 
Whitson remark, as if he were repeating something 
she had just said. 

“There is nothing there,” she replied. “Why, 
there aren’t a hundred miles of good roads and not a 
dozen automobiles.” 

Evidently the swiftness of life in New York of 
which she had tasted was having its effect. 

“St. Croix, where we have the plantation, is just 
as bad. Part of the time we live there, part of the 
time at Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas. But there 
is little difference. I hope Jorgen is able to sell. At 
287 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

least I should like to live a part of the year in the 
States.” 

“Would he like that, too?” 

“Many of us would,” she replied, quickly. “For 
many years things have been getting worse with us. 
Just now it seems a bit better because of the high 
price of sugar. But who knows how long that will 
last? Oh, I wish something would happen soon so 
that we might make enough money to live as I want 
to live. Think ; here the best years of life are slipping 
away. Unless we do something soon, it will be too 
late! We must make our money soon.” 

There was an air of impatience in her tone, of 
restless dissatisfaction. I felt also that there was an 
element of danger, too, in a woman just passing from 
youth making a confidant of another man. 

It was a mixed situation with the quartet whom 
we were watching. One thing was sufficiently evi- 
dent. They were all desperately engaged in the 
pursuit of wealth. That was a common bond. Nor 
had I seen anything to indicate that they were over- 
scrupulous in that pursuit. Within half an hour I 
had seen Leontine with Sydney and Nanette with 
Whitson. Both Sydney as consular agent and Whit- 
son through his influence with the shipping trust 
possessed great influence. Had the party thought it 
, out and were they now playing the game with the 
! main chance in view? 

I looked inquiringly at Kennedy as the voices died 
away while the couple walked slowly down the deck. 
He said nothing, but he was evidently pondering 
deeply on some problem, perhaps that which the 
trend of affairs had raised in my own mind. 

288 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


Our delay had not been long, but it had been 
sufficient to cause us to miss finding Leontine and 
Sydney. We did, however, run across Burke, bent 
evidently on watching, also. 

“I don’t like this business,” he confessed, as we 
paused to compare experiences. 4 ‘I’ve been think- 
ing of that Mexican business you hinted at, Kennedy. 
You know the islands would be an ideal out-of-the- 
way spot from which to start gun-running expedi- 
tions to Mexico. I don’t like this Leontine and 
Burleigh. They want to make money too bad.” 

Kennedy smiled. “Burleigh doesn’t seem to ap- 
prove of everything, though,” he remarked. 

“Perhaps not. That’s one reason why I think it 
may be more dangerous for Sydney than he realizes. 
I know she’s a fascinating girl. All the more reason 
to watch out for her. But I can’t talk to Sydney,” 
he sighed. 

It was an enigma and I had not solved it, though 
I felt much as Burke did. Kennedy seemed to have 
determined to allow events to take their course, per- 
haps in the hope that developments would be quicker 
that way than by interfering with something which 
we did not understand. 

In the smoking-room, after we left Burke, Kennedy 
and I came upon Erickson and Burleigh. They had 
just finished a game of poker with some of the other 
passengers, in which Burleigh’s usual run of luck and 
skill had been with him. 

“Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,” remarked 
Burleigh as we approached. 

He said it with an air of banter, yet I could not 
help feeling that there was a note of seriousness at 
289 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the bottom of it. Had he known that Leon tine had 
been with Sydney on the deck? His very success 
at poker had its effect on me. I found myself eying 
him as if he had been one of the transatlantic card 
sharps, perhaps an international crook. Yet when 
I considered I was forced to admit that I had noth- 
ing on which to base such a judgment. 

Erickson presented a different problem, to my 
mind. There was indeed something queer about 
him. Either he had not been perfectly frank with 
us in regard to the improvement of his properties or 
he was concealing something much more sinister. 
Again and again my mind reverted to the hints that 
had been dropped by Marlowe, and I recalled the 
close scrutiny Whitson had given the four that 
night. So far, I had felt that in any such attempt 
we might count on Whitson playing a lone hand and 
perhaps finding out something to our advantage. 

It was the morning of the last day of the voyage 
that most of the passengers gathered on the deck 
for the first glimpse of the land to which we had 
been journeying. 

Before us lay the beautiful and picturesque harbor 
and town of Charlotte Amalie, one of the finest 
harbors in the West Indies, deep enough to float the 
largest vessels, with shipyards, dry-docks, and repair 
shops. From the deck it was a strikingly beautiful 
picture, formed by three spurs of mountains covered 
with the greenest of tropical foliage. From the edge 
of the dancing blue waves the town itself rose on 
the hills, presenting an entrancing panorama. 

All was bustle and excitement as the anchor 
plunged into the water, for not only was this the end 
2 go 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


of our journey, but the arrival of the boat from New 
York was an event for the town. 

There was much to watch, but I let nothing inter- 
fere with my observation of how the affair between 
Sydney and Leontine was progressing. To my sur- 
prise, I saw that this morning she was bestowing 
the favor of her smile rather on Burleigh. It was 
Sydney’s turn now to feel the pangs of jealousy, and 
I must admit that he bore them with better grace 
than Burleigh, whatever that might indicate. 

As I watched the two and recalled their intimacy 
at the Burridge the first night we had seen them, I 
almost began to wonder whether I might not have 
been wrong about Leontine. Had it been that I had 
distrusted the woman merely because I was sus- 
picious of the type, both male and female? Had I 
been finding food for suspicion because I was myself 
suspicious ? 

Erickson was standing beside Sydney, while we 
were not far away. Evidently he had been saving 
up a speech for the occasion and now was prepared 
to deliver it. 

“Mr. Sydney,” he began, with a wave of his arm 
that seemed to include us all, “it is a pleasure to 
welcome you here to our island. Last night it 
occurred to me that we ought to do something to 
show that we appreciate it. You must come to 
dinner to-night at my villa here in the town. You 
are all invited, all of us who have become so enjoy- 
ably acquainted on this voyage which I shall never 
forget. Believe me when I say that it will be even 
more a tribute to you personally than because of the 
official position you are to hold among us.” 

291 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


It was a graceful invitation, more so than I had 
believed Erickson capable of framing. Sydney 
could do nothing less than thank him cordially and 
accept, as we all did. Indeed, I could see that Ken- 
nedy was delighted at the suggestion. It would give 
him an opportunity to observe them all under cir- 
cumstances different enough to show something. 

While we were thanking Erickson, I saw that 
Whitson had taken the occasion also to thank Mrs. 
Erickson, with whom he had been talking, just a 
bit apart from the group. He made no secret of his 
attentions, though I thought she was a bit em- 
barrassed by them at such a time. Indeed, she 
started rather abruptly toward the group which 
was now intent .on surveying the town, and as she 
did so, I noted that she had forgotten her hand-bag, 
which lay on a deck-chair near where they had been 
sitting. 

I picked it up to restore it. Some uncontrollable 
curiosity prompted me and I hesitated. All were 
still looking at the town. I opened the bag. Inside 
was a little bottle of grayish liquid. What should 
I do? Any moment she or Whitson might turn 
around. Hastily I pulled off the cap of my fountain- 
pen and poured into it some of the liquid, replacing 
the cork in the bottle and dropping it back into the 
bag, while I disposed of the cap as best I could with- 
out spilling its contents. 

Whether either she or any one else had observed 
me, I was not going to run any chances of being seen. 
I called a passing steward. “Mrs. Erickson forgot 
her bag,” I said, pointing hastily to it. “You’ll find 
her over there with Mr. Whitson.” Then I mingled 

2Q2 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


in the crowd to watch her. She did not seem to show 
any anxiety when she received it. 

I lost no time in getting back to Kennedy and 
telling him what I had found, and a few moments 
later he made an excuse to go to our state-room, as 
eager as I was to know what had been in the little 
bottle. 

First he poured out a drop of the liquid from the 
cap of my fountain-pen in some water. It did not 
dissolve. Successively he tried alcohol, ether, then 
pepsin. None of them had any effect on it. Finally, 
however, he managed to dissolve it in ammonia. 

“Relatively high amount of sulphur,” he mut- 
tered, after a few moments more of study. ‘ ‘ Keratin, 
I believe.” 

“A poison?” I asked. 

Kennedy shook his head. “No; harmless.” 

“Then what is it for?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. He may have had some 
half -formed idea, but if he did it was still indefinite 
and he refused to commit himself. Instead, he placed 
the sample in his traveling laboratory, closed and 
locked it, and, with our luggage, the box was ready 
to be taken ashore. 

Nearly every one had gone ashore by the time we 
returned to the deck. Whitson was there yet, talk- 
ing to the captain, for the shipping at the port inter- 
ested him. I wondered whether he, too, might be 
suspicious of those cases consigned to Erickson and 
others. If so, he said nothing of it. 

By this time several vessels that looked as if they 
might be lighters, though fairly large, had pulled up. 
It seemed that they had been engaged to carry ship- 
20 293 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


ments of goods to the other islands of St. John and 
St. Croix. 

Kennedy seemed eager now to get ashore, and we 
went, accompanied by Whitson, and after some 
difficulty established ourselves in a small hotel. 

Most of the tourists were sightseeing, and, while 
we had no time for that, still we could not help 
doing so, in going about the town. 

Charlotte Amalie, I may say, proved to be one of 
the most picturesque towns in the Windward Islands. 
The walls of the houses were mostly of a dazzling 
whiteness, though some were yellow, others gray, 
orange, blue. But the roofs were all of a generous 
bright red which showed up very effectively among 
the clumps of green trees. Indeed, the town seemed 
to be one of gaily tinted villas and palaces. There 
were no factories, no slums. Nature had provided 
against that and man had not violated the provision. 

The people whom we met on the streets were 
mostly negroes, though there was a fair sprinkling 
of whites. What pleased us most was that nearly 
everywhere we went English was spoken. I had 
half expected Danish. But there was even very little 
Spanish spoken. 

Burke was waiting for us, and in spite of his playing 
the role of traveling salesman managed to direct us 
about so that we might as quickly as possible pick 
,up the thread of the mysterious death of Dwight. 
It did not take long to gather such meager informa- 
tion as there was about the autopsy that had fol- 
lowed the strange death of Sydney’s predecessor. 

We were able to find out little from either the 
authorities or the doctor who had investigated the 
294 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


case. Under the stress of suspicion, both the stomach 
and the contents of the stomach of the unfortunate 
man had been examined. No trace of anything out of 
the way had been found, and there the matter had 
rested, except for suspicion. 

One of our first visits was to the American con- 
sulate. There Sydney, by virtue of his special 
commission, had, with characteristic energy, es- 
tablished himself with the consul. Naturally, he, 
too, had been making inquiries. But they had led 
nowhere. There seemed to be no clue to the mys- 
terious death of Dwight, not even a hint as to the 
cause. 

All that we were able to discover, after some hours 
of patient inquiry, was that Dwight had suffered 
from great prostration, marked cyanosis, convul- 
sions, and coma. Whether it was the result of some 
strange disease or of a poison no one, not even the 
doctor, was prepared to say. All that was known was 
that the blow, if blow it had been, was swift, sudden, 
sure. 

We ran across Whitson once or twice during the 
day, busily engaged renewing acquaintance with 
merchants and planters whom he had known before, 
but I do not recall having seen either Burleigh or 
Leontine, which, at the time, I thought rather 
strange, for the town was small and strangers were 
few. The more I thought of it the more firmly con- 
vinced I was that Dwight had discovered some secret 
which it was extremely inconvenient for somebody to 
have known. What was it? Was it connected with 
the rumors we had heard of gun-running to Mexico ? 

Erickson had invited us to come late in the after- 

2QS 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


noon to the dinner and we did not delay in getting 
there. His house proved to be a veritable palace 
on the side of one of the hills rising abruptly back of 
the shore. Flights of massive stone steps, quaint 
walls covered with creepers, balustrades overlooking 
charming gardens, arcades from which one looked 
out on splendid vistas and shady terraces combined 
to make it a veritable paradise such as can be found 
only in tropical and subtropical lands. Most won- 
derful of all was the picture of the other hills unfolded, 
especially of the two ruined pirates’ castles belonging 
to semi-mythical personages, Bluebeard and Black- 
beard. 

The Ericksons were proud of their home, as well 
they might be, in spite of the complaints we had 
heard Nanette utter and the efforts of Erickson to 
sell his holdings. Mrs. Erickson proved to be a 
charming hostess and the host extended a hospi- 
tality such as one rarely meets. It quite made me 
uncomfortable to accept it at the same time that I 
knew we must view it all with suspicion. Nor did 
it make matters any better, but rather worse, to feel 
that there was some color of excuse for the suspicion. 

Burleigh arrived proudly with Leontine, followed 
closely by Sydney. At once the game was on again, 
Leontine pitting one against the other. Whitson 
came, his attentions to Mrs. Erickson a trifle re- 
strained, but still obvious. Burke and ourselves 
completed the party. 

To the repeated urging of Erickson we made our- 
selves quite as much at home as we politely could. 
Kennedy and Burke, acting under his instructions, 
seemed to be ubiquitous. Yet, beyond a continua- 
296 


THE GUN-RUNNER 

tion of the drama that had been unfolded on the ship 
it did not seem to me at first that we were getting 
anywhere. 

Kennedy and I were passing alone along a colon- 
nade that opened off from the large dining-hall, 
when Craig paused and looked in through an open 
door at the massive table set for the dinner. 

A servant had just completed setting out cocktails 
at the various places, pouring them from a huge 
tankard, for the purpose, which had been standing 
on a sideboard. Guests had been walking past 
through the colonnade ever since we arrived, but at 
the moment there was no one about, and even the 
servant had disappeared. 

Kennedy stepped lightly into the dining-hall and 
looked about sharply. Instinctively I stepped to a 
window where I could hear any one approaching. Out 
of the comer of my eye I saw him narrowly scruti- 
nizing the table. Finally he pulled from his pocket 
a clean linen handkerchief. Into an empty glass he 
poured the contents of one of the cocktail-glasses, 
straining the liquid through the handkerchief. 
Then he poured the filtrate, if I may call it such, 
back into the original glass. A second he treated 
in the same way, and a third. He had nearly com- 
pleted the round of the table when I heard a light 
step. 

My warning came only just in time. It was Bur- 
leigh. He saw us standing now in the colonnade, 
made some hasty remark, then walked on, as if in 
search for some one. Had it been interest in Leon- 
tine or in the dining-room that had drawn him 
thither ? 


297 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Kennedy was now looking closely at the hand- 
kerchief, and I looked also. In the glasses had been 
innumerable little seeds as if from the fruit juice 
used in concocting the appetizer. The fine meshes 
of the linen had extracted them. What were they? 

I took one in my fingers and crushed it between 
my nails. There was an unmistakable odor of 
bitter almonds. What did it mean? 

We had no time now for speculation. Our pro- 
longed absence might be noticed and we hastened 
to join the other guests after finishing the round of 
glasses in which he had been interrupted. 

How, in my suppressed excitement, I managed to 
get through that dinner I do not know. It was a 
brilliant affair, yet I found that I had completely 
lost my appetite, as well one might after having 
observed Kennedy’s sleuthing. 

However, the dinner progressed, though each 
course that brought it nearer a conclusion afforded 
me an air of relief. I was quite ready when, over the 
coffee, Kennedy contrived to make some excuse for 
us, promising to call again and perhaps to visit the 
Erickson plantation. 

In the secrecy of our room in the little hotel, Craig 
was soon deeply buried in making use of his travel- 
ing laboratory. As he worked I could no longer 
restrain my impatience. “What about that little 
bottle of keratin?” I asked, eagerly. 

“Oh yes,” he replied, not looking up from the 
tests he was making. “Well, keratin, you know, is 
also called epidermose. It is a scleroprotein present 
largely in cuticular structures such as hair, nails, 
horn. I believe it is usually prepared from pieces 
298 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


of horn steeped in pepsin, hydrochloric acid, and 
water for a long time. Then the residue is dissolved 
in ammonia and acetic acid.” 

“But what’s its use?” I demanded. “You said it 
was harmless.” 

“Why, the pepsin of the stomach won’t digest it,” 
he returned. “For that reason its chief use is for 
coating what are known as ‘enteric capsules.’ ♦Any- 
thing coated with keratin is carried on through the 
stomach into the intestines. It is used much in hot 
countries in order to introduce drugs into the intes- 
tines in the treatment of the tropical diseases that 
affect the intestines.” He paused and devoted his 
entire attention to his work, but he had told me 
enough to assure me that at least the bottle of 
keratin I had found had proved to be a clue. 

I waited as long as I could, then interrupted again. 
“What are the seeds?” I queried. “Have you 
found out yet?” 

He paused as though he had not quite finished his 
hasty investigation, yet had found out enough to 
convince him. “There seem to be two kinds. I 
wish I had had time to keep each lot separate. 
Some of them are certainly quite harmless. But 
there are others, I find, that have been soaked in 
nitro-benzol, artificial oil of bitter almonds. Even 
a few drops, such as might be soaked up in this way, 
might be fatal. The new and interesting phase, to 
me, is that they were all carefully coated with 
keratin. Really, they are keratin-coated enteric 
capsules of nitro-benzol, a deadly poison.” 

I looked at him, aghast at what some of us had 
been rescued from by his prompt action. 

299 


HE TREASURE-TRAIN 


“You see,” he went on, excitedly, “that is why 
the autopsies probably showed nothing. These 
doctors down here sought for a poison in the stomach. 
But if the poison had been in the stomach the odor 
alone would have betrayed it. You smelt it when 
you crushed a seed. But the poisoning had been 
devised to avoid just that chance of discovery. 
There was no poison in the stomach. Death was 
delayed long enough, also, to divert suspicion from 
the real poisoner. Some one has been diabolically 
clever in covering up the crimes.” 

I could only gasp my amazement. “Then,” I 
blurted out, “you think the Ericksons — ” 

Our door burst open. It was Burke, in wild ex- 
citement. 

“Has anybody — died?” I managed to demand. 

He seemed not to hear, but dashed to the window 
and threw it open. “Look!” he exclaimed. 

We did. In the late twilight, through the open 
sash we could see the landlocked basin of the harbor. 
But it was not that at which Burke pointed. On 
the horizon an ugly dark cloud rose menacingly. 
In the strange, unearthly murkiness, I could see 
people of the town pouring out into the narrow 
streets, wildly, fearfully, with frantic cries and 
gesticulations. 

For a moment I gazed at the sight blankly. Then 
I realized that sweeping on us was one of those 
sudden, deadly West- Indian hurricanes. Our har- 
bor was sheltered from the north and east winds. 
But this wind was southern bom, rare, oncoming in 
a fury against which we had no protection. 

Hastily closing his armamentarium, .Kennedy also 
300 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


hurried out on the street. The gale had become 
terrific already in the few minutes that had elapsed. 
From our terrace we could see the water, gray and 
olive, with huge white breakers, like gnashing 
teeth, coming on to rend and tear everything in their 
path. It was as though we stood in an amphitheater 
provided by nature for a great spectacle, the bold 
headlands standing out like the curves of a stadium. 

I looked about. The Ericksons had just driven 
up with Burleigh and Leontine, as well as Whitson, 
all of whom were stopping at our hotel, and were 
about to take Sydney on to the consulate when the 
approach of the storm warned them to stay. 

Leontine had hurried into the hotel, evidently 
fearful of the loss of something she treasured, and 
the rest were standing apart from the trees and build- 
ings, where the formation of the land offered some 
protection. As we joined them I peered at the pale 
faces in the ghastly, unnatural light. Was it, in a 
sense, retribution? 

Suddenly, without further warning, the storm 
broke. Trees were turned up by roots, like weeds, 
the buildings rocked as if they had been houses of 
cards. It was a wild, catastrophic spectacle. 

“Leontine,” I heard a voice mutter by my side, 
as a form catapulted itself past through the murki- 
ness into the crazily swaying hotel. It was Burleigh. 
I turned to speak to Kennedy. He was gone. Where 
to find him I had no idea. The force of the wind 
was such that search was impossible. All we could 
do was to huddle back of such protection as the earth 
afforded against the million needles of rain that cut 
into our faces. 


301 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


The wind almost blew me flat to the earth as, no 
longer able to stand the suspense, I stumbled toward 
the hotel, thinking perhaps he had gone to save his 
armamentarium, although if I had stopped to think 
I should have realized that that strong box was 
about the safest piece of property on the island. 

I was literally picked up and hurled against an 
object in the darkness — a man. “In the room — * 
more keratin — more seeds.” 

It was Kennedy. He had taken advantage of the 
confusion to make a search which otherwise might 
have been more difficult. Together we struggled 
back to our shelter. 

Just then came a crash, as the hotel crumpled 
under the fierce stress of the storm. Out of the 
doorway struggled a figure just in time to clear the 
falling walls. It was Burleigh, a huge gash from a 
beam streaming blood down his forehead which the 
rain washed away almost as it oozed. In his arms, 
clinging about his neck, was Leontine, no longer 
the sophisticated, but in the face of this primeval 
danger just a woman. Burleigh staggered with his 
burden a little apart from us, and in spite of every- 
thing I could fancy him blessing the storm that had 
given him his opportunity. 

Far from abating, the storm seemed increasing in 
fury, as though all the devils of the underworld were 
vexed at anything remaining undestroyed. It seemed 
as if even the hills on which the old pirates had once 
had their castles must be rocking. 

“My God!” exclaimed a thick voice, as an arm 
shot out, pointing toward the harbor. 

There was the Arroyo tugging at every extra 
302 


THE GUN-RUNNER 


mooring that could be impressed into service. The 
lighters had broken or been cut away and were 
scudding, destruction-bent, squarely at the shore 
almost below us. A moment and they had crashed 
on the beach, a mass of timbers and spars, while 
the pounding waves tore open and flung about 
heavy cases as though they were mere toys. 

Then, almost as suddenly as it had come, the 
storm began to abate, the air cleared, and nothing 
remained but the fury of the waves. 

“Look!” exclaimed Kennedy, pointing down at 
the strange wreckage that strewed the beach. ‘ ‘ Does 
that look like agricultural machinery?” We strained 
our eyes. Kennedy did not pause. “The moment I 
heard that arms were getting into Mexico I sus- 
pected that somewhere here in the Caribbean 
munitions were being transhipped. Perhaps they 
have been sent to Atlantic ports ostensibly for the 
Allies. They have got down here disguised. Even 
before the storm exposed them I had reasoned it 
out. From this port, the key to the vast sweep of 
mainland, I reasoned that they were being taken 
over to secret points on the coast where big ships 
could not safely go. It was here that blockade- 
runners were refitted in our Civil War. It is here 
that this new gun-running plot has been laid.” 

He turned quickly to Sydney. ‘ ‘ The only ob- 
stacle between the transfer of the arms and success 
was the activity of an American consulate. Those 
lighters were not to carry goods to other islands. 
They were really destined for Mexico. It was 
profitable. And the scheme for removing opposition 
was evidently safe.” 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Kennedy was holding up another bottle of keratin 
and some fruit seeds. “I found these in a room in 
the hotel,” he added. 

I did not comprehend. “But,” I cut in, “the 
hand-bag — the dinner — what of them?” 

“A plant — a despicable trespass on hospitality — 
all part of a scheme to throw the guilt on some one 
else, worthy of a renegade and traitor.” 

Craig wheeled suddenly, then added, with an 
incisive gesture, “I suppose you know that there is 
reputed to have been on one of these hills the head- 
quarters of the old pirate, Teach — ‘the mildest 
manner’d man that ever scuttled ship or cut a 
throat!’ ” 

Kennedy paused, then added, quickly, “In respect 
to covering up your gun-running, Whitson, you are 
superior even to Teach!” 


XII 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


Get story Everson and bride yacht Belle Aventure seeking 
treasure sunk Gulf liner Antilles . 

K ENNEDY and I had proceeded after a few 
leisurely days in St. Thomas to Porto Rico. 
We had no particular destination, and San Juan 
rather appealed to us as an objective point because 
it was American. 

It was there that I found waiting for me the above 
message by wireless from the Star in New York. 

San Juan was, as we had anticipated, a thoroughly 
Americanized town and I lost no time in getting 
around at once to the office of the leading news- 
paper, the Colonial News. The editor, Kenmore, 
proved to be a former New York reporter who had 
come out in answer to an advertisement by the 
proprietors of the paper. 

“What’s the big story here now?” I asked by way 
of preface, expecting to find that colonial news- 
papermen were provincial. 

“What’s the big story?” repeated Kenmore, im- 
patiently pushing aside a long leader on native 
politics and regarding me thoughtfully. “Well, I’m 
not superstitious, but a honeymoon spent trying to 
3°S 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


break into Davy Jones's locker for sunken treasure — 
I guess that’s a good story, isn’t it?” 

I showed him my message and he smiled. “You 
see, I was right,” he exclaimed. “They’re search- 
ing now at the Cay d’Or, the Golden Key, one of 
the southernmost of the Bahamas, I suppose you 
would call it. I wish I was like you. I’d like to get 
away from this political stuff long enough to get 
the story.” 

He puffed absently on a fragrant native cigar. 
“I met them all when they were here, before they 
started,” he resumed, reminiscently. “It was cer- 
tainly a picturesque outfit — three college chums — 
one of them on his honeymoon, and the couple 
chaperoning the bride’s sister. There was one of 
the college boys — a fellow named Gage — who fairly 
made news.” 

“How was that?” inquired Kennedy, who had 
accompanied me, full of zest at the prospect of 
mixing in a story so romantic. 

“Oh, I don’t know that it was his fault — alto- 
gether,” replied Kenmore. “There’s a young lady 
here in the city, the daughter of a pilot, Dolores 
Guiteras. She had been a friend of some one in the 
expedition, I believe. I suppose that’s how Gage 
met her. I don’t think either of them really cared 
for each other. Perhaps she was a bit jealous of the 
ladies of the party. I don’t know anything much 
about it, only I remember one night in the cafe of 
the Palace Hotel, I thought Gage and another fellow 
would fight a duel — almost — until Everson dropped 
in and patched the affair up and the next day his 
yacht left for Golden Key.” 

306 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


“I wish I’d been here to go with them,” I con- 
sidered. “How do you suppose I’ll be able to get 
out there, now?” 

“You might be able to hire a tug,” shrugged 
Kenmore. “The only one I know is that of Captain 
Guiteras. He’s the father of this Dolores I told you 
about.” 

The suggestion seemed good, and after a few 
moments more of conversation, absorbing what little 
Kenmore knew, we threaded our way across the city 
to the home of the redoubtable Guiteras and his 
pretty daughter. 

Guiteras proved to be a man of about fifty, a 
sturdy, muscular fellow, his face bronzed by the 
tropical sun. 

I had scarcely broached the purpose of my visit 
when his restless brown eyes seemed literally to 
flash. “No, sir, ’ ’ he exclaimed, emphatically. “You 
cannot get me to go on any such expedition. Mr. 
Everson came here first and tried to hire my tug. 
I wouldn’t do it. No, sir — he had to get one from 
Havana. Why, the whole thing is unlucky — hoo- 
dooed, you call it. I will not touch it.” 

“But,” I remonstrated, surprised at his unex- 
pected vehemence, “I am not asking you to join 
the expedition. We are only going to — ” 

“No, no,” he interrupted. “I will not consider 
it. I—” 

He cut short his remarks as a young woman, 
radiant in her Latin-American beauty, opened the 
door, hesitated at sight of us, then entered at a nod 
from him. We did not need to be told that this was 
the Dolores whom Kenmore’s rumor had credited 
3°7 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


with almost wrecking Everson’s expedition at the 
start. She was a striking type, her face, full of 
animation and fire, betraying more of passion than 
of intellect. 

A keen glance of inquiry from her wonderful eyes 
at her father was followed by a momentary far- 
away look, and she remained silent, while Guiteras 
paused, as if considering something. 

“They say,” he continued, slowly, his features 
drawn sharply, “that there was loot of Mexican 
churches on that ship — the jewels of Our Lady of the 
Rosary at Puebla. . . . That ship was cursed, I tell 
you!” he added, scowling darkly. 

“No one was lost on it, though,” I ventured at 
random. 

“I suppose you never heard the story of the 
Antilles?” he inquired, turning swiftly toward me. 
Then, without stopping: “She had just sailed from 
San Juan before she was wrecked — on her way to 
New York from Vera Cruz with several hundred 
Mexican refugees. Treasure? Yes; perhaps mill- 
ions, money that belonged to wealthy families in 
Mexico — and some that had the curse on it. 

“You asked a moment ago if everybody wasn’t 
rescued. Well, everybody was rescued from the 
wreck except Captain Driggs. I don’t know what 
happened. No one knows. The fire had got into 
the engine-room and the ship was sinking fast. Pas- 
sengers saw him, pale, like a ghost, some said. 
Others say there was blood streaming from his head. 
When the last boat-load left they couldn’t find him. 
They had to put off without him. It was a miracle 
that no one else was lost.” 

3°8 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


“How did the fire start?” inquired Kennedy, 
much interested. 

“No one knows that, either,” answered Guiteras, 
shaking his head slowly. ‘ ‘ I think it must have been 
smoldering in the hold for hours before it was 
discovered. Then the pumps either didn’t work 
properly or it had gained too great headway for 
them. I’ve heard many people talk of it and of the 
treasure. No, sir, you wouldn’t get me to touch it. 
Maybe you’ll call it superstition. But I won’t have 
anything to do with it. I wouldn’t go with Mr. 
Everson and I won’t go with you. Perhaps you 
don’t understand, but I can’t help it.” 

Dolores had stood beside her father while he was 
speaking, but had said nothing, though all the time 
she had been regarding us from beneath her long 
black eyelashes. Arguments with the old pilot had 
no effect, but I could not help feeling that somehow 
she was on our side, that whether she shared his 
fears and prejudices, her heart was really somewhere 
near the Key of Gold. 

There seemed to be nothing for us to do but wait 
until some other way turned up to get out to the 
expedition, or perhaps Dolores succeeded in chang- 
ing the captain’s mind. We bowed ourselves out, 
not a little puzzled by the enigma of the obdurate 
old man and his pretty daughter. Try as I might 
among the busy shipping of the port, I could find 
no one else willing at any reasonable price to change 
his plans to accommodate us. 

It was early the next morning that a young lady, 
very much perturbed, called on us at our hotel, 
scarcely waiting even the introduction of her plainly 
21 3°9 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


engraved card bearing the name, Miss Norma 
Sanford. 

“Perhaps you know of my sister, Asta Sanford, 
Mrs. Orrin Everson,” she began, speaking very 
rapidly as if under stress. “We’re down here on 
Asta’s honeymoon in Orrin’s yacht, the Belle 
Aventure .” Craig and I exchanged glances, but 
she did not give us a chance to interrupt. 

“It all seems so sudden, so terrible,” she cried, in 
a burst of wild, incoherent feeling. “Yesterday 
Bertram Traynor died, and we’ve put back to San 
Juan with his body. I’m so worried for Orrin and 
my sister. I heard you were here, Professor Ken- 
nedy, and I couldn’t rest until I saw you.” 

She was looking anxiously at Craig. I wondered 
whether she had heard of our visit to the Guiterases 
and what she knew about that other woman. 

“I don’t quite understand,” interposed Kennedy, 
with an effort to calm her. “Why do you fear 
for your sister and Mr. Everson? Was there 
something — suspicious — about the death of Mr. 
Traynor?” 

“Indeed I think there was,” she replied, quickly. 
“None of us has any idea how it happened. Let 
me tell you about our party. You see, there are 
three college chums, Orrin and two friends, Bertram 
Traynor and Donald Gage. They were all on a 
cruise down here last winter, the year after they 
graduated. It was in San Juan that Orrin first met 
Mr. Dominick, who was the purser on the Antilles — 
you know, that big steamer of the Gulf Line that 
was burned last year anc^ went down with seven 
million dollars aboard?” 


310 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


Kennedy nodded to the implied query, and she 
went on: “Mr. Dominick was among those saved, 
but Captain Driggs was lost with his ship. Mr. 
Dominick had been trying to interest some one here 
in seeking the treasure. They knew about where 
the Antilles went down, and the first thing he wanted 
to do was to locate the wreck exactly. After that 
was done of course Mr. Dominick knew about the 
location of the ship’s strong room and all that.” 

“That, of course, was common knowledge to any 
one interested enough to find out, though,” suggested 
Kennedy. 

“Of course,” she agreed. “Well, a few months 
later Orrin met Mr. Dominick again, in New York. 
In the mean time he had been talking the thing over 
with various people and had become acquainted 
with a man who had once been a diver for the Inter- 
ocean Marine Insurance Company — Owen Kinsale. 
Anyhow, so the scheme grew. They incorporated a 
company, the Deep Sea Engineering Company, to 
search for the treasure. That is how Orrin started. 
They are using his yacht and Mr. Dominick is really 
in command, though Mr. Kinsale has the actual 
technical knowledge.” 

She paused, but again her feelings seemed to get 
the better of her. “Oh,” she cried, “I’ve been 
afraid all along, lately. It’s dangerous work. And 
then, the stories that have been told of the ship and 
the treasure. It seems ill-fated. Professor Ken- 
nedy,” she appealed, “I wish you would come and 
see us. We’re not on the yacht just now. We came 
ashore as soon as we arrived back, and Asta and 
Orrin are at the Palace Hotel now. Perhaps Orrin 

311 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


can tell you more. If you can do nothing more than 
quiet my fears — ” 

Her eyes finished the sentence. Norma Sanford 
was one of those girls who impress you as quite 
capable of taking care of themselves. But in the 
presence of the tragedy and a danger which she felt 
but could not seem to define, she felt the need of 
outside assistance and did not hesitate to ask it. 
Nor was Kennedy slow in responding. He seemed 
to welcome a chance to help some one in distress. 

We found Everson and his young wife at the 
hotel, quite different now from the care-free advent- 
urers who had set out only a few days before to 
wrest a fortune from chance. 

I had often seen portraits of the two Sanford 
sisters in the society pages of the papers in the 
States and knew that the courtship of Orrin Everson 
and Asta Sanford had been a true bit of modem 
romance. 

Asta Everson was a unique type of girl. She had 
begun by running fast motor cars and boats. That 
had not satisfied her, and she had taken up aviation. 
Once, even, she had tried deep-sea diving herself. 
It seemed as if she had been bom with the spirit of 
adventure. 

To win her, Everson had done about everything 
from Arctic exploration one summer when he was in 
college to big-game hunting in Africa, and mountain- 
climbing in the Andes. Odd though the romance 
might seem to b£, one could not help feeling that the 
young couple were splendidly matched in their tastes. 
Each had that spirit of restlessness which, at least, 
sent them out playing at pioneering. 

312 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 

Everson had organized the expedition quite as 
much in the spirit of revolt against a prosaic life of 
society at home as for gain. It had appealed strongly 
to Asta. She had insisted that nothing so much as 
a treasure hunt would be appropriate for their 
wedding-trip and they had agreed on the unconven- 
tional. Accordingly, she and her sister had joined 
Everson and his party, Norma, though a year 
younger, being quite like her sister in her taste for 
excitement. 

“Of course, you understand,” explained Everson, 
as he hurriedly tried to give us some idea of what 
had happened, “we knew that the Antilles had 
sunk somewhere off the Cay d’Or. It was first a 
question of locating her. That was all that we 
had been doing when Bertram died. It is ter- 
rible, terrible. I can’t believe it. I can’t under- 
stand it.” 

In spite of his iron nerve, the tragedy seemed to 
have shaken Everson profoundly. 

“You had done nothing that might have been 
dangerous?” asked Kennedy, pointedly. 

“Nothing,” emphasized Everson. “You see, we 
located the wreck in a way somewhat similar to the 
manner in which they sweep the seas for mines and 
submarines. It was really very simple, though it 
took us some time. All we did was to drag a wire 
at a fixed depth between the yacht and the tug, or 
rather, I suppose you’d almost call it a trawler, 
which I chartered from Havana. What we were 
looking for was to have the wire catch on some 
obstruction. It did, too, not once, but many times, 
due to the unevenness of the ocean bed. Once we 

313 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


located a wreck, but it was in shallow water, a small 
boat, not the one we were looking for.” 

“But you succeeded finally?” 

“Yes, only day before yesterday we located her. 
We marked the spot with a buoy and were getting 
ready for real w r ork. It was just after that that 
Bertram was taken ill and died so suddenly. We’ve 
left Dominick, Kinsale, Gage, and the rest on the 
trawler there, while I came here with Traynor’s 
body. God! but it was awful to have to send the 
news back to New York. I don’t know what to 
think or what to do.” 

“How did he die?” asked Kennedy, endeavoring 
to gain the confidence of young Everson. “Do you 
recall any of his symptoms?” 

“It came on him so suddenly,” he replied, “that 
we hadn’t much time to think. As nearly as we 
could make out, it began with a faintness and diffi- 
culty in breathing. We asked him how he felt — 
but it seemed as if he was deaf. I thought it might 
be the ‘bends’ — you know, caisson disease — and 
we started to put him in the medical lock which we 
had for the divers, but before we could get it ready 
he was unconscious. It was all so sudden that it 
stunned us. I can’t make it out at all.” 

Neither Asta nor Norma seemed able to tell any- 
thing. In fact, the blow had been so swift and unex- 
pected, so incomprehensible, that it had left them 
thoroughly alarmed. 

The body of Traynor had already been brought 
ashore and placed in a local undertaking shop. With 
D verson, Kennedy and I hastened to visit it. 

Traynor had been an athlete and powerfully 
3i4 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


built, which made his sudden death seem all the 
more strange. Without a word, Craig set to work 
immediately examining his body, while we stood 
aside, watching him in anxious silence. 

Kennedy consumed the greater part of the morn- 
ing in his careful investigation, and after some time 
Everson began to get restless, wondering how his 
wife and sister-in-law were getting on in his absence. 
To keep him company I returned to the hotel with 
him, leaving Kennedy to pursue his work alone. 

There was nothing much that either of us could 
say or do, but I thought I observed, on closer ac- 
quaintance with Norma, that she had something 
weighing on her mind. Was it a suspicion of which 
she had not told us? Evidently she was not pre- 
pared to say anything yet, but I determined, rather 
than try to quiz her, to tell Kennedy, in the hope 
that she might confide in him what she would not 
breathe to any one else. 

It was perhaps an hour or more later that we re- 
turned to Craig. He was still at work, though from 
his manner it was evident that his investigations had 
begun to show something, however slight. 

“Have you found anything ?” asked Everson, 
eagerly. 

“I think I have,” returned Craig, measuring his 
words carefully. “Of course you know the dangers 
of diving and the view now accepted regarding the 
rapid effervescence of the gases which are absorbed in 
the body fluids during exposure to pressure. I think 
you know that experiment has proved that when the 
pressure is suddenly relieved the gas is liberated in 
bubbles within the body. That is what seems to do 
315 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


the harm. His symptoms, as you described them, 
seemed to indicate that. It is like charged water in 
a bottle. Take out the cork and the gas inside 
which has been under pressure bubbles up. In the 
human body, air and particularly the nitrogen in 
the air, literally form death bubbles.” 

Everson said nothing as he regarded Kennedy 
face searchingly, and Craig went on: “Set free in 
the spinal cord, for instance, such bubbles may cause 
partial paralysis, or in the heart may lead to stoppage 
of the circulation. In this case I am quite sure that 
what I have found indicates air in the arteries, the 
heart, and the blood vessels of the brain. It must 
have been a case of air embolism, insufflation.” 

Though Everson seemed all along to have sus- 
pected something of the sort, Kennedy’s judgment 
left him quite as much at a loss for an explanation. 
Kennedy seemed to understand, as he went on: 

“I have tried to consider all the ways such a 
thing could have happened,” he considered. “It is 
possible that air might have been introduced into 
the veins by a hypodermic needle or other instrument. 
But I find no puncture of the skin or other evidence 
that would support that theory. I have looked for 
a lesion of the lungs, but find none. Then how could it 
have occurred? Had he done any real deep diving?” 

Everson shook his head slowly. “No,” he re- 
plied. “As I said, it wouldn’t have been so incom- 
prehensible if he had. Besides, if we had been diving, 
we should have been on the lookout. No, Bertram 
had only tested the apparatus once, after we located 
the wreck. He didn’t much more than go under the 
surface — nothing like the practice dives we all made 
316 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


up in Long Island Sound before we came down here. 
He was only testing the pumps and other things to 
see whether they had stood the voyage. Why, it 
was nothing at all! I don’t see how it could have 
given any one the ‘bends’ — much less a fellow like 
Traynor. Why, I think he could have stood more 
than Kinsale with a little practice. Kennedy, I 
can’t get it out of my mind that there’s something 
about this that isn’t right” 

Craig regarded Everson gravely. “Frankly,” he 
confessed, “I must say that I don’t understand it 
myself — at this distance.” 

“Would you come out to the Key with me?” 
hastened Everson, as though grasping at a possible 
solution. 

‘ ‘ I should be delighted to help you in any manner 
that I can,” returned Craig, heartily. 

Everson could not find words to express his grati- 
tude as we hurried back to the hotel. In the excite- 
ment, I had completely forgotten the despatch from 
the Star, but now I suddenly realized that here, ready 
to hand, was the only way of getting out to the Key 
of Gold and securing the story. 

Asta Everson and Norma, especially, were over- 
joyed at the news that Kennedy had consented to 
accompany them back to the wreck. Evidently they 
had great faith in him, from what they had heard at 
home. 

Accordingly, Everson lost no time in preparing to 
return to the yacht. Nothing more now could be 
done for poor Traynor, and delay might mean much 
in clearing up the mystery, if mystery it should 
prove. We were well on our way toward the landing- 
3H 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 

place before I realized that we were going over much 
the same route that Kennedy and I had taken the 
day before to reach the home of Guiteras. 

I was just about to say something about it to 
Kennedy, and of the impression that Norma had 
made on me, when suddenly a figure darted from 
around a corner and confronted us. We stopped in 
surprise. It was no other than Dolores herself — * 
not the quiet, subdued Dolores we had seen the day 
before, but an almost wild, passionate creature. 
What it was that had transformed her I could not 
imagine. It was not ourselves that she seemed to 
seek, nor yet the Eversons. She did not pause until 
she had come close to Norma herself. 

For a moment the two women, so different in 
type, faced each other, Dolores fiery with the ardent 
beauty of her race, Norma pulsating with life and 
vigor, yet always mistress of herself. 

“I warn you!” cried Dolores, unable to restrain 
herself. “You thought the other was yours — and 
he was not. Do not seek revenge. He is mine — 
mine, I tell you. Win your own back again. I was 
only making sport of him. But mine — beware!” 

For a moment Norma gazed at her, then, without 
a word, turned aside and walked on. Another in- 
stant and Dolores was gone as suddenly as she had 
appeared. Asta looked inquiringly, but Norma 
made no attempt at explanation. What did it 
mean? Had it anything to do with the dispute in 
the hotel which Kenmore had witnessed? 

At the landing we parted for a time with Everson, 
to return to our hotel and get what little we needed, 
including Kennedy’s traveling laboratory, while 
3iS 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 

Everson prepared quarters for our reception on the 
yacht. 

“What do you make of that Dolores incident?” 
I hastened to ask the moment we were alone. 

“I don’t know,” he replied, “except that I feel it 
has an important bearing on the case. There is 
something that Norma hasn’t told us, I fear.” 

While we waited for a wagon to transfer our goods 
to the dock, Kennedy took a moment to call up 
Kenmore on the News. As he turned to me from the 
telephone, I saw that what he had learned had not 
helped him much in his idea of the case. 

“It was the Interocean Company which had in- 
sured the Antilles ,” was all he said. 

Instantly I thought of Kinsale and his former 
connection. Was he secretly working with them 
still? Was there a plot to frustrate Everson’s plans? 
At least the best thing to do was to get out to the 
wreck and answer our many questions at first hand. 

The Belle Aventure was a trim yacht of perhaps 
seventy feet, low,’ slim, and graceful, driven by a 
powerful gas-engine and capable of going almost 
anywhere. An hour later we were aboard and 
settled in a handsomely appointed room, where 
Craig lost no time in establishing his temporary 
traveling crime clinic. 

It was quite late before we were able to start, for 
Everson had a number of commissions to attend to 
on this his first visit to port since he had set out so 
blithely. Finally, however, we had taken aboard all 
that he needed and we slipped out quietly past the 
castle on the point guarding the entrance to the 
harbor. All night we plowed ahead over the brilliant, 
319 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


starry, tropical sea, making splendid time, for the 
yacht was one of the fastest that had ever been 
turned out by the builders. 

Now and then I could see that Kennedy was fur- 
tively watching Norma, in the hope that she might 
betray whatever secret it was she was guarding so 
jealously. Though she betrayed nothing, I felt sure 
that it had to do with some member of the expedition 
and that it was a more than ordinarily complicated 
affair of the heart. The ladies had retired, leaving 
us with Everson in the easy wicker chairs on the 
after-deck. 

“I can’t seem to get out of my mind, Everson, 
that meeting with the Spanish girl on the street,” 
suddenly remarked Kennedy, in the hope of getting 
something by surprise. “You see, I had already 
heard of a little unpleasantness in a hotel cafe, be- 
fore the expedition started. Somehow I feel that 
there must be some connection.” 

For a moment Everson regarded Kennedy under 
the soft rays of the electric light under the awning 
as it swayed in the gentle air, then looked out over 
the easy swell of the summer sea. 

“I don’t understand it myself,” he remarked, at 
length, lowering his voice. “When we came down 
here Dominick knew that girl, Dolores, and of course 
Kinsale met her right away, too. I thought Gage 
was head over ears in love with Norma — and I 
guess he is. Only that night in the cafe I just didn’t 
like the way he proposed a toast to Dolores. He 
must have met her that day. Maybe he was a bit 
excited. What she said to-day might mean that it 
was her fault. I don’t know. But since we’ve been 
320 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


out to the Key I fancy Norma has been pretty 
interested in Dominick. And Ivinsale doesn’t hesi- 
tate to show that he likes her. It all sets Donald 
crazy. It’s so mixed up. I can’t make anything of 
it. And Norma — well, even Asta can’t get anything 
out of her. I wish to Heaven you could straighten the 
thing out.” 

We talked for some time, without getting much 
more light than Everson had been able at first to 
shed on the affair, and finally we retired, having 
concluded that only time and events would enable 
us to get at the truth. 

It was early in the morning that I was wakened 
by a change in the motion of the boat. There was 
very little vibration from the engine, but this motion 
was different. I looked out of the port-hole which 
had been very cleverly made to resemble a window 
and found that we had dropped anchor. 

The Key of Gold was a beautiful green island, set, 
like a sparkling gem, in a sea of deepest turquoise. 
Slender pines with a tuft of green at the top rose 
gracefully from the wealth of foliage below and con- 
trasted with the immaculate white -of the sandy 
beach that glistened in the morning sun. Romance 
seemed to breathe from the very atmosphere of the 
place. 

We found that the others on the yacht were astir, 
too, and, dressing hastily, we went out on deck. 
Across the dancing waves, which seemed to throw a 
mocking challenge to the treasure-seekers to find 
what they covered, we could see the trawler. Already 
a small power-boat had put out from her and was 
plowing along toward us. 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


It was as the boat came alongside us that we met 
Gage for the first time. He was a tall, clean-cut 
fellow, but even at a glance I recognized that his 
was an unusual type. I fancied that both proctors 
and professors had worried over him when he was in 
college. 

Particularly I tried to discover how he acted when 
he met Norma. It was easy to see that he was very 
eager to greet her, but I fancied that there was some 
restraint on her part. Perhaps she felt that we were 
watching and was on her guard. 

Dominick greeted Everson warmly. He was a 
man of about thirty-five and impressed one as having 
seen a great deal of the world. His position as 
purser had brought him into intimate contact with 
many people, and he seemed to have absorbed much 
from them. I could imagine that, like many people 
who had knocked about a great deal, he might prove 
a very fascinating person to know. 

Kinsale, on the other hand, was a rather silent 
fellow and therefore baffling. In his own profession 
of deep-sea diving he was an expert, but beyond that 
I do not think he had much except an ambition to 
get ahead, which might be praiseworthy or not, 
according as he pursued it. 

I fancied that next to Everson himself, Norma 
placed more confidence in Dominick than in any of ; 
the others, which seemed to be quite natural, though 
it noticeably piqued Gage. On the part of all three, 
Gage, Dominick, and Kinsale, it was apparent that 
they were overjoyed at the return of Norma, which 
also was quite natural, for even a treasure-hunt 
has hours of tedium and there could be nothing 
322 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 

tedious when she was about. Asta was undoubtedly 
the more fascinating, but she was wrapped up in 
Everson. It was not long before Kennedy and I 
also fell under the spell of Norma’s presence and 
personality. 

We hurried through breakfast and lost no time in 
accepting Everson’s invitation to join him, with the 
rest, in the little power-boat on a visit to the trawler. 

It was Dominick who took upon himself the task 
of explaining to us the mysteries of treasure-hunting 
as we saw them. “You see,” he remarked, pointing 
out to us what looked almost like a strangely de- 
veloped suit of armor, “we have the most recent 
deep-sea diving-outfit which will enable us to go 
from twQ hundred to three hundred feet down — 
farther, and establish a record if we had to do it. 
It won’t be necessary, though. The Antilles lies in 
about two hundred and fifty feet of water, we have 
found. This armor has to be strong, for, with the 
air pressure inside, it must resist a pressure of nearly 
half a pound per square inch for each foot we go — 
to be exact, something like a hundred and five 
pounds per square inch at the depth of the wreck. 
Perhaps if Traynor had been diving we might have 
thought that that was the trouble.” 

It was the first reference since we arrived to the 
tragedy. “He had only had the suit on once,” went 
on Dominick, confirming Everson, “and that was 
merely to test the pumps and valves and joints. 
Even Kinsale, here, hasn’t been down. Still, we 
haven’t been idle. I have something to report. 
With our instruments we have discovered that the 
ship has heeled over and that it will be a bit harder 

323 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


job to get into my office and get out the safe than 
we hoped — but feasible.” 

Kennedy showed more interest in the diving 
apparatus than he had shown in anything else so far. 
The trawler was outfitted most completely as a 
tender, having been anchored over the exact spot at 
which the descents were to be made, held by four 
strong cables, with everything in readiness for action. 

I saw him cast a quick glance at the others. For 
the moment Dominick, Gage, and Kinsale seemed 
to have forgotten us in their interest explaining to 
Norma what had been accomplished in her absence. 
He seized the occasion to make an even closer ex- 
amination of the complicated apparatus. So care- 
fully had accident been guarded against that even a 
device for the purification of the air had been in- 
stalled in the machine which forced the fresh air 
down to the diver, compressed. 

It was this apparatus which I saw Kennedy 
studying most, especially one part where the air was 
passed through a small chamber containing a chem- 
ical for the removal of carbon dioxide. As he looked 
up, I saw a peculiar expression on his face. Quickly 
he removed the chemical, leaving the tube through 
which the air passed empty. 

“I think the air will be pure enough without any 
such treatment,” he remarked, glancing about to be 
sure no one had observed. 

“How is that?” I inquired, eagerly. 

“Well, you know air is a mechanical mixture of 
gases, mainly oxygen and nitrogen. Here’s some- 
thing that gives it an excess of nitrogen and a smaller 
percentage of oxygen. Nitrogen is the more dan- 
324 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 

gerous gas for one under compressed air. It is the 
more inert nitrogen that refuses to get out of the 
blood after one has been under pressure, that forms 
the bubbles of gas which cause all the trouble, the 
‘bends,’ compressed-air sickness, you know.” 

“Then that is how Traynor died?” I whispered, 
coming hastily to the conclusion. “Some one 
placed the wrong salt in there — took out oxygen, 
added nitrogen, instead of removing carbon diox- 
ide?” 

Norma had turned toward us. It was too early 
for Kennedy to accuse anybody, whatever might be 
his suspicions. He could not yet come from under 
cover. “I think so,” was all he replied. 

A moment later the group joined us. “No one 
has been down on the wreck yet?” inquired Craig, 
at which Everson turned quickly to the three com- 
panions he had left in charge, himself anxious to 
know. 

“No,” replied Kinsale before any one else could 
answer. “Mr. Dominick thought we’d better wait 
until you came back.” 

“Then I should like to be the first,” cut in Craig, 
to my utter surprise. Remonstrance had no effect 
with him. Neither Norma nor Asta could dissuade 
him. As for the rest of us, our objections seemed 
rather to confirm him in his purpose. 

Accordingly, in spite of the danger, which now no 
one no more than he knew, all the preparations were 
made for the first dive. With the aid of Kinsale, 
whom I watched closely, though no more so than 
Craig, he donned the heavy suit of rubberized re- 
inforced canvas, had the leads placed on his feet and 

325 


2 2 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


finally was fitted with the metal head and the “bib” 
— the whole weighing hardly short of three hundred 
pounds. It was with serious misgiving that I saw 
him go over the side of the trawler and shoot down 
into the water with its dark mystery and tragedy. 

The moments that he was down seemed intermin- 
able. Suspiciously I watched every move that the 
men made, fearful that they might do something. 
I longed for the technical knowledge that would 
have enabled me to handle the apparatus. I tried 
to quiet my fears by reasoning that Craig must have 
had perfect confidence in the value of his discovery 
if he were willing to risk his life on it, yet I felt that 
at least a show of vigilance on my part might bluff 
any one off from an attempt to tamper again with 
the air-supply. I stuck about closely. 

Yet, when there came a hasty signal on the indi- 
cator from below, although I felt that he had been 
down for ages, I knew that it had been only a very 
short time. Could it be a signal of trouble? Had 
some one again tampered with the apparatus? 

Would they never bring him up? It seemed as 
if they were working fearfully slow. I remembered 
how quickly he had shot down. What had seemed 
then only a matter of seconds and minutes now 
seemed hours. It was only by sheer will power that 
I restrained myself as I realized that going under 
the air pressure might be done safely quite fast, that 
he must come out slowly, by stages, that over the 
telephone that connected with his helmet he was 
directing the decompression in accordance with the 
latest knowledge that medical science had derived 
of how to avoid the dread caisson disease. 

326 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


I don’t know when I have felt more relief than I 
did at seeing his weird headgear appear at the sur- 
face. The danger from the “bends” might not be 
entirely over yet, but at least it was Craig himself, 
safe, at last. 

As he came over the side of the trawler I ran to 
him. It was like trying to greet a giant in that out- 
landish suit which was so clumsy out of the water. 
■Craig’s back was turned to the others, and when I 
realized the reason I stood aghast. Pie had brought 
up a skull and had handed the gruesome thing to 
me with a motion of secrecy. Meanwhile he has- 
tened to get out of the cumbersome suit, and, to my 
delight, showed no evidence yet of any bad effects. 

That he should have made the descent and re- 
turned so successfully I felt must be a surprise to 
some one. Who was it? I could not help thinking 
of Kinsale again. Was he working for two masters? 
Was he still employed by the insurance company? 
Was this a scheme to capture all the rich salvage of 
the ship instead of that percentage to which Everson 
had secured an agreement with the underwriters? 

Kennedy lost no time in getting back to the Belle 
Aventure with the skull which I had concealed for 
him. It was a strange burden and I was not loath 
to resign it to him. None of the others, apparently, 
knew that he had brought up anything with him, 
and to all questions he replied as though he had 
merely been testing out the apparatus and, except 
in a most cursory way, had not made an examination 
of the ship, although what he had observed confirmed 
the investigations they had already made from the 
surface. 


327 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


In our cabin, Kennedy set to work immediately 
after opening his traveling laboratory and taking 
from it a small kit of tools and some materials that 
looked almost like those for an actor’s make-up. 

I saw that he wished to be left alone and retired 
as gracefully as I could, determined to employ the 
time in watching the others. I found Norma seated 
in one of the wicker chairs on the after-deck, talking 
earnestly with Dominick, and, hesitating whether I 
should interrupt them, I paused between the library 
and the sumptuously fitted main saloon. I was glad 
that I did, for just that moment of hesitation was 
enough for me to surprise a man peering out at them 
through the curtains of a window, with every evi- 
dence of intense dislike of the situation. Looking 
closer, I saw that it was Gage. Had I expected any- 
thing of the sort I should have gone even more 
cautiously. As it was, though I surprised him, he 
heard me in time to conceal his real intentions by 
some trivial action. 

It seemed as if our arrival had been succeeded by 
a growth of suspicion among the members of the 
little party. Each, as far as I could make out, was 
now on guard, and, remembering that Kennedy had 
often said that that was a most fruitful time, since 
it was just under such circumstances that even the 
cleverest could not help incriminating himself, I 
hastened back to let Craig know how matters were. 
He was at work now on a most grotesque labor, and, 
as he placed on it the finishing touches, he talked 
abstractedly. 

“What I am using, Walter,” he explained, “might 
be called a new art. Lately science has perfected 
328 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


the difficult process of reconstructing the faces of 
human beings of whom only the skull or a few bones, 
perhaps, are obtainable. 

“To the unskilled observer a fleshless skull pre- 
sents little human likeness and certainly conveys no 
notion of the exact appearance in life of the person 
to whom it belonged. But by an ingenious system of 
building up muscles and skin upon the bones of the 
skull this appearance can be reproduced with scien- 
tific accuracy. 

“The method, I might say, has been worked out 
independently by Professor von Froriep, in Ger- 
many, and by Dr. Henri Martin, in France. Its 
essential principle consists in ascertaining from 
the examination of many corpses the normal thick- 
ness of flesh that overlies a certain bone in a 
certain type of face. From these calculations the 
scientists by elaborate processes build up a face on 
the skull.” 

I watched him with an uncontrollable fascination. 
“For instance,” he went on, “a certain type of bone 
always has nearly the same thickness of muscle over 
it. A very fine needle with graduations of hundredths 
of an inch is used in these measurements. As I have 
done here, a great number of tiny plaster pyramids 
varying in height according to the measurements 
obtained by these researches are built up over the 
skull, representing the thickness of the muscles. The 
next step will be to connect them together by a layer 
of clay the surface of which is flush with the tips of 
the pyramids. Then wax and grease paint and a 
little hair will complete it. You see, it is really 
scientific restoration of the face. I must finish it. 

329 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


Meanwhile, I wish you would watch Norma. I’ll 
join you in a short time.” 

Norma was not on deck when I returned, nor did 
I see any one else for some time. I walked forward, 
and paused at the door to the little wireless-room on 
the yacht, intending to ask the operator if he had 
seen her. 

“Where’s Mr. Kennedy?” he inquired, before I 
had a chance to put my own question. “Some one 
has been in this wireless-room this morning and 
must have been sending messages. Things aren’t 
as I left them. I think he ought to know.” 

Just then Everson himself came up from below, 
his face almost as white as the paint on the sides of 
his yacht. Without a word, he drew me aside, look- 
ing about fearfully as though he were afraid of being 
overheard. “I’ve just discovered half a dozen 
sticks of dynamite in the hold,” he whispered, 
hoarsely, staring wide-eyed at me. “There was a 
timing device, set for to-night. I’ve severed it. 
Where’s Kennedy?” 

“Your wireless has been tampered with, too,” 
I blurted out, telling what I had just learned. 

We looked at each other blankly. Clearly some 
one had plotted to blow up the yacht and all of us on 
board. Without another word, I took his arm and 
we walked toward our state-room, where Kennedy 
was at work. As we entered the narrow passage to 
it I heard low voices. Some one was there before 
us. Kennedy had shut the door and was talking in 
the hall. As we turned the comer I saw that it was 
Norma, whom I had forgotten in the surprise of 
the two discoveries that had been so suddenly made. 

330 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


As we approached she glanced significantly at 
Kennedy as if appealing to him to tell something. 
Before he could speak, Everson himself interrupted, 
telling of his discovery of the dynamite and of what 
the wireless operator had found. 

There was a low exclamation from Norma. “It’s 
a plot to kidnap me!” she cried, in a smothered voice. 
“Professor Kennedy — I told you I thought so!” 

Everson and I could only look our inquiries at the 
startling new turn of events. 

“Miss Sanford has just been to her state-room,” 
hastily explained Craig. “There she fqund that 
some one had carefully packed up a number of her 
things and hidden them, as if waiting a chance to 
get them off safely. I think her intuition is correct. 
There would be no motive for robbery — here.” 

Vainly I tried to reason it out. As I thought, I 
recalled that Gage had seemed insanely jealous of 
both Dominick and Kinsale, whenever he saw either 
with Norma. Did Gage know more about these 
mysterious happenings than appeared? Why had 
he so persistently sought her? Had Norma in- 
stinctively fled from his attentions? 

“Where are the others?” asked Craig, quickly. I 
turned to Everson. I had not yet had time to find 
out. 

“Gone back to the trawler,” he replied. 

“Signal them to come aboard here directly,” 
ordered Craig. 

It seemed an interminable time as the message 
was broken out in flags to the trawler, which was not 
equipped with the wireless. Even the hasty expla- 
nation which Kennedy had to give to Asta Everson, 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


as she came out of her cabin, wondering where Orrin 
had gone, served only to increase the suspense. It 
was as though we were living over a powder-maga- 
zine that threatened to explode at any moment. 
What did the treachery of one member of the expedi- 
tion mean? Above all, who was it? 

We had been so intent watching from the deck the 
all too slow approach of the little power-boat from 
the trawler that we had paid no attention to what 
was on our other quarter. 

“A tug approaching, sir,” reported the man on 
watch to Everson. ‘ ‘ Seems to be heading for us, sir. ’ ’ 

We turned to look. Who was she, friend or foe? 
We knew not what to expect. Everson, pale but 
with a firm grip on his nerves, did not move from 
the deck as the power-boat came alongside, and 
Dominick, Gage, and Kinsale swung themselves up 
the ladder to us. 

“It’s the tug of that pilot, Guiteras, sir,” inter- 
posed the man who had spoken before. Not a word 
was spoken, though I fancied that a quiet smile 
flitted over Kennedy’s face as we waited. 

The tug ranged up alongside us. To my utter 
astonishment, I saw Dolores, her black eyes eagerly 
scanning our faces. Was she looking for Gage, I 
wondered? It was only a moment when the party 
that had put out from the tug also came tumbling 
aboard. 

“I got your message, Kennedy, and brought 
Guiteras. He wouldn’t join the expedition, but 
he thought more of his daughter than of anything 
else.” 

It was Kenmore, who had at last achieved his 
332 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


wish to get on the treasure-hunt story. Everson 
looked inquiringly at Craig. 

“Message?” repeated Kennedy. “I sent no mes- 
sage.” 

It was Kenmore’s turn to stare. Had some one 
hoaxed him into a wild-goose chase, after all ? 

Nothing ? About Dolores being deserted, and — ’ ’ 

“He shall marry my daughter!” boomed a gruff 
voice as Guiteras shouldered his way through the 
little group, his hand shooting back to a pocket 
where bulged a huge Colt. 

Like a flash Kennedy, who had been watching, 
caught his wrist. “Just a second, Captain,” he 
shouted, then turned to us, speaking rapidly and 
excitedly. “This thing has all been carefully, dia- 
bolically laid out. All who stood in the way of the 
whole of the treasure were to be eliminated. One 
person has sought to get it all — at any cost.” 

In Craig’s own hand now gleamed a deadly auto- 
matic while with the other he held Guiteras ’s wrist. 

“But,” he added, tensely, “an insane passion has 
wrecked the desperate scheme. A woman has been 
playing a part — leading the man on to his own de- 
struction in order to save the man she really loves.” 

I looked over at Norma. She was pale and agitat- 
ed, then burning and nervous by turns. It was only 
by a most heroic effort that she seemed able to 
restrain herself, her eyes riveted on Kennedy’s face, 
weighing every word to see whether it balanced with 
a feeling in her own heart. 

“The Antilles ,” shot out Kennedy, suddenly, 
“was burned and sunk, not by accident, but with a 
purpose. That purpose has run through all the 
333 


THE TREASURE-TRAIN 


events I have seen — the use of Mr. Everson, his 
yacht, his money, his influence. Come!” He strode f 
down the passage to our state-room, and we followed 
in awed silence. 

“It is a vast, dastardly crime — to get the Mexican 
millions,” he went on, pausing, his hand on the knob 
of the door while we crowded the narrow passage. 
“I have brought up from the wreck a skull which I 
found near a safe, unlocked so that entrance would 
be easy. The skull shows plainly that the man had 
been hit on the head by some blunt instrument, 
crushing him. Had he discovered something that it 
was inconvenient to know? You have heard the 
stories of the ill-fated ship — ” 

Craig flung open the door suddenly. We saw a 
weird face — the head apparently streaming blood 
from a ghastly wound. There was a shrill cry beside 
me. 

“It’s his ghost — Captain Driggs! God save me — 
it’s his ghost come to haunt me and claim the 
treasure!” 

I turned quickly. Dominick had broken down. 

“You were — just leading him on — tell me — 
Norma.” I turned again quickly. It was Gage, 
who had taken Norma’s hand, quivering with ex- 
citement. 

“You never cared for her?” she asked, with the 
anxiety that showed how in her heart she loved him. 

“Never. It was part of the plot. I sent the 
message to get her here to show you. I didn’t know 
you were playing a game — ” 

Suddenly the sharp crack of a pistol almost deaf- 
ened us in the close passageway. As the smoke 
334 


THE SUNKEN TREASURE 


cleared, I saw Dolores, her eyes blazing with hatred, 
jealousy, revenge. In her hand was the pistol she 
had wrenched from her father. 

On the floor across the door-sill sprawled a figure. 
Dominick had paid the price of his faithlessness to 
her also. 


















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ZANE 3R EY'S NOVELS 

- lay be had wherever bocks are sold. AslTfor Grosset & Dunlap’s list 


t he light of western stars 

N Hp r Y w,i SOCiety - g i rl j uys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier war- 
y l superintendent rescues her when she is captured by bandits. A 
surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close. 

THE RAINBOW TRAIL 

beCOm ' S * Wa ” derer iD ,ht erei * '" stOT > 

DESERT GOLD 

„ f T J? e s^ry describes the recent uprising along- the border, and ends with the finding 
ot the goxd which two prospectors had willed to the girl who in the story’s heroine. 

RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE 

^,ui P * C Tk es Q - u e romance of Utah. of some forty years ago when Mormon authority 
ruled. I he prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of the story. 

THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN 

This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the 
preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in “that 
wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines .' }f 

THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT 

A loveljr girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New 
Jinglancer. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become 
the second wife of one of the Mormons — Well, that’s the problem of this great story. 

THE SHORT STOP 

The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as 
A professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are followed by such success 
as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty ought to win. 

BETTY ZANE 


This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister of 
old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. 

THE LONE STAR RANG IR 

After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along the 
Texas border.. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a young girl held 
prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon himself the wrath of her 
captors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws. 

THE BORDER LEGION 

Toan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless Western mining 
Camp, to prove his.mettle. Then realizing that she loved him— she followed him out. 
On her way, s"'e is captured by a bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots 
Kells, the leade. —and nurses him to health again. Here enters another romance-^ 
when Joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold 
strike, a thrilling robbery— gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly. 


THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, 

By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey 

The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, “ Buffalo Bill,” as told by his sister and 
Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his first encounter with an In- 
dian. We see “ Bill” as a pony express rider, then near Fort Sumter as Chief of 
the Scouts,. and later engaged in the most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is 
also a very interesting account of the travels of ‘‘The Wild West” Show No char- 
acter In public life makes, a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than 
Buffalo Bill,” whose daring and bravery made him famous. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


THE NOVELS OF 

MARY ROBERTS RINEHART 


May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset ft Dunlap's list. 


“K” Illustrated. 

K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that 
has known him, and goes to live in a little town where 
beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is in training to become a 
nurse. The joys and troubles of their young love are told 
with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has 
made the author famous. 

THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. 

Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. 

An absorbing detective story woven around the mysteri- 
ous death of the “Man in Lower Ten.” The strongest 
elements of Mrs. Rinehart’s success are found in this book. 
WHEN A MAN MARRIES. 

Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. 

A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, 
finds that his aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who 
contributes to the family income and who has never seen 
the wife, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. How 
the young man met the situation is humorously and most 
entertainingly told. 

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. by Lester Ralph. 

The summer occupants of “Sunnyside” find the dead 
body of Arnold Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the cir- 
cular staircase. Following the murder a bank failure is an- 
nounced. Around these two events is woven a plot of 
absorbing interest. 

THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. - - _ 

Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.) 

Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great vio- 
linist, suddenly realizes that her money is almost gone. She 
meets a young ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and 
sympathy, and together with world-worn Dr. Anna and 
Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means. 


rROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, New YORK 


KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES 


May bo bad wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 

MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. 

Thk book has a fairy-story touch, fcounterbalanced by 
the sturdy reality of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace 
and power of a mother’s experiences. 

SATURDAY’S CHILD. 

Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. 

Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, 
makes a quest for happiness. She passes through three 
stages — poverty, wealth and service — and works out a 
creditable salvation. 

THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. 

Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock. 

The story ^ of a sensible woman who" keeps within her 
means, refuses to be swamped by social engagements, lives 
a normal human life of varied interests, and has her own 
romance. 

THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. 

Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert. 

How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surround- 
ings, lifted herself through sheer determination to a higher 
plane of life. 

THE HEART OF RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. \ 

Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in' 
working out these, there is shown the beauty and strength 
of soul of one of fiction’s most appealing characters. 

Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 


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GETJ 


JACK LONDON’S NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 


JOHN BARLEYCORN. Illustrated by H. T. Dunn. 

This remarkable book is a record of the author’s own amazing 
experiences. This big, brawny world rover, who has been ac- 
quainted with alcohol from boyhood, comes out boldly against John 
Barleycorn. It is a string of exciting adventures, yet it forcefully 
conveys an unforgetable idea and makes a typical Jack London book. 

THE VALLEY OF THE MOON . Frontispiece by George Harper. 

The story opens in the city slums where Billy Roberts, teamster 
and ex-prize fighter, and Saxon Brown, laundry worker, meet and 
love and marry. They tramp from one end of California to the 
other, and in the Valley of the Moon find the farm paradise that is 
to be their salvation. 

BURNING DAYLIGHT. Four illustrations. 

The story ot an adventurer who went to Alaska and laid the 
foundations of his fortune before the gold hunters arrived. Bringing 
his fortunes to the States he is cheated out of it by a crowd of money 
kings, and recovers it only at the muzzle of his gun. He then starts 
out as a merciless exploiter on his own account. Finally he takes to 
drinking and becomes a picture of degeneration. About this time 
he falls in love with his stenographer and wins her heart but not 
her hand and then — but read the story! 

A SON OF THE SUN . Illustrated by A. O. Fischer and C. W. Ashley. 

David Grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came 
from England to the South Seas in search of adventure. Tanned 
like a native and as lithe as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. 
The life appealed to him and he remained and became very wealthy. 

THE CALL OF THE WILD. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin and 
Charles Livingston Bull. Decorations by Charles E. Hooper. 
A book ot dog adventures as exciting as any man’s exploits 
could be. Here is excitement to stir the blood and here is pictur- 
esque color to transport the reader to primitive scenes.? 

THE SEA WOLF. Illustrated by W. J. Aylward. 

Told by a man whom Fate suddenly swings from his fastidious 
life into the power of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. A 
novel of adventure warmed by a beautiful love episode that every 
reader will hail with delight. 

WHITE FANG. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. 

“White Fang” is part dog, part wolf and all brute, living in the 
frozen north ; he gradually comes under the spell of man’s com- 
panionship, and surrenders all at the last in a fight with a bull dog. 
Thereafter he is man’s loving slave. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


THE NOVELS OF 

GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON 


May be had wherever boohs are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list 


GRAUSTARK. Illustrated with Scenes from the Play. 

With the appearance of this novel, the author introduced a new 
type of story and won for himself a perpetual reading public. It 
is the story of love behind a throne in a new and strange country, 

BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK, Illustrations by Harrison Fisher. 

This is a sequel to “ Graustark.” A bewitching American girl 
visits the little principality and there has a romantic love affair. 

PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by A. I. Keller. 

The Prince of Graustark is none other than the son of the hero- 
ine of “ Graustark." Beverly’s daughter, and an American multi- 
millionaire with a brilliant and lovely daughter also figure in the 
story. 

BREWSTER'S MILLIONS. 

Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo-Play. 

A young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year; 
in order to inherit seven , accomplishes the task in this lively story. 

COWARDICE COURT. 

Illus. by Harrison Fisher and decorations by Theodore Hapgood. 

A romance of love and adventure, the plot forming around a 
social feud in the Adirondacks in which an English girl is tempted 
into being a traitor by a romantic young American. 

THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND. Illustrated by A. I. Keller. 

A story of modern New York, built around an ancient enmity; 
born of the scorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth. 

WHAT'S-HIS-NAME. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher. 

“ What’s-His-Name ” is the husband of a beautiful and popular 
actress who is billboarded on Broadway under an assumed name. 
The very opposite manner in which these two live their lives brings 
a dramatic climax to the story. 

Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


SEWELL FORD’S STORIES 

May bp had wharsver books a>e sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 

SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

A very humorous story, The hero, an independent and vigorous 
thinker, sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way. 
SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. 

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy 
with human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requi- 
sites for “side-stepping with Shorty.” 

SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. 

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped 
right up to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a 
“conscience fund,” and gives joy to all concerned. 

SHORTY McCABE’S ODD NUMBERS, 

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for 
physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at 
swell yachting parties. 

TORCHY. Illus, by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. 

A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom pe- 
culiar to the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the 
story of his experiences. 

TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. 

Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in 
the previous book. 

ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. 

Torchy falls desperately in love with “the only girl that ever 
was,” but that young society woman’s aunt tries to keep the young 
people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. 
TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. 

Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary 
for the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and 
infectious American slang. 

WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. 

Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West 
Coast, in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust 
and with his friend’s aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt’s 
permission to place an engagement ring on Vee’s finger. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


MYRTLE REED’S NOVELS 


May ba had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. 


LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. 

A charming story of a quaint comer of New England, where by- 
gone romance finds a modern parallel, The story centers round 
the coming of love to the young people on the staff of a newspaper — 
and it is one of the prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old-fashioned 
love stories. 

MASTER OF THE VINEYARD. 

A pathetic love story of a young girl, Rosemary. The teacher of 
the country school, who is also master of the vineyard, comes to 
know her through her desire for books. She is happy in his love till 
another woman comes into his life. But happiness and emancipa- 
tion from her many trials come to Rosemary at last. The book has 
a touch of humor and pathos that will appeal to every reader. 

OLD ROSE AND SILVER. 

A love story, — sentimental and humorous, — with the plot subor- 
dinate to the character delineation of its quaint people and to the 
exquisite descriptions of picturesque spots and of lovely, old, rare 
treasures. 

A WEAVER CF DREAM& 

This story tells of the love-affairs of three young people, with an 
old-fashioned romance in the background. A tiny dog plays an im- 
portant role in serving as a foil for the heroine’s talking ingenious- 
ness. There is poetry, as well as tenderness and charm, in this tale 
of a weaver of dreams. 

A SPINNER IN THE SUN, 

An old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in solitude 
and whose features her neighbors have never seen. There is a mys- 
tery at the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of 
romance. 

THE MASTER'S VIOLIN. 

A love story in a musfcal atmosphere. A picturesque, old Ger- 
man virtuoso consents to take for his pupil a handsome youth who 
proves to have an aptitude for technique, but not the soul of an 
artist. The youth cannot express the love, the passion and the 
tragedies of life as can the master. But a girl comes into his life, 
and through his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that 
life has to give — and his soul awakes. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 


NOVELS OF FRONTIER LI 'E BY 

WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE 

HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. ' 

May be had wherever bcoks are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list 


MAVERICKS. 

A tale of the western frontier, where the “rustler,” whose dep- 
redations are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, 
abounds. One of the sweetest love stories ever told. it - 

A TEXAS RANGER. 

How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried 
law into the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent man after a series 
of thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then 
passed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness. 

WYOMING. 

In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured 
the breezy charm of “cattleland,” and brings out the turbid life of 
the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor. 

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA. 

The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where poli- 
tics and mining industries are the religion of the country. The 
political contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give 
this story great strength and charm. 

BUCKY O’CONNOR, 

Every chapter teems with 'wholesome, stirring adventures, re- 
plete with the dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash 
and absorbing fascination of style and plot. 

CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT . 

A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of 
a bitter feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. The heroine 
is a most unusual woman and her love story reaches a culmination 
that is fittingly characteristic of the great free West. 

BRAND BLOTTERS . 

A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid 
life of the frontier, with all its engaging dash and vigor, with a charm- 
ing love interest running through its 320 pages. 


Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 





































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